Imperfect Perfection
by Troubled Serenity
Summary: There are times when I'd have a retort, but when I'd look up to fling it towards him the words would die on my lips. It's infuriating. For a while I was angry that I was in love with him.-A post war Drarry. Slash. Rated M for a reason
1. Chapter 1

***A/N: Thank you for reading! I don't own any recognizable material, just the plot. And it's rated M for later chapters**

I look over…well…I glance over really, at the man who has captured and claimed my heart for the past few months. It's probably a good thing

he doesn't know considering I'd have to obliviate him if he did. I watch as he rubs at his eyes, pushing his glasses towards the top of his

head. It makes my heart kick and sputter in my chest.

"What are you staring at Malfoy?" he asks coldly. I shake my head; he had startled me out of a daze, and then place a carefully

arranged sneer on my face. I pause… I can't think of a witty response. So I just shake my head and stare down at my Transfiguration paper.

There's a snort and then silence and I have to fight to not stare at him again. I can't afford another slip up. The war may be over, but I'm still a

Malfoy and I do have a rep to keep.

There are times when I'd have a retort, but when I'd look up to fling it towards him the words would die on my lips. It's infuriating.

For a while I was angry that I was in love with him. I was angry at myself, in denial about it. It wasn't until a few weeks ago that I finally

learned to accept myself, realizing that accepting myself is what separated me from my father. Of course, the fact that I wouldn't need to tell

anyone this, and could die an old man with my dignity still intact, helped loads.

"Ey, Malfoy time to go," Pansy chirps, placing a light hand on my arm. Instinctively I jerk away, ignoring the hurt look on her face. I

mutter an apology and shove my stuff into my bag. I veer through the traffic of students being handed out from the classrooms and run full out

towards the next class. I've learned that the faster I get to class, the less jinxes thrown my way. It's harder to hit a moving target.

"What's his problem?"

"Watch where you're running!"

Shouts follow me down the corridors as I sprint towards Potions, just one level below me. I run down a nearby staircase, taking the

stone steps two at a time, and tear through various hallways before slowing down in front of the Potion's classroom. Looking around I see no

one and run a hand through my hair, pushing it back from my face. I've given up slicking my hair back in an attempt to appear less intimidating

to everyone.

My internal clock says I'm about five minutes early. A few months ago I would have used this time to think. These days I don't spend

much time thinking because quite honestly I'm scared of what my subconscious will bring up. I slide down the wall and pull a thick book from

my bag, just a little light reading to keep my mind busy.

Two sentences in, "Draco, a bit early aren't we?" The oily voice of Snape slides into my ears, like a potion gone horribly wrong. I sigh

and pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger and slam my book shut, looking up at Snape. From here on the floor he

looks like a monster. It's not that I'm not fond of my godfather, he's just a tiring person to be with.

"Yes Uncle," I sigh and slide my book back into my bag. Really, can't he go and sort his closet of ingredients or something?

"I've read that one," Uncle says, toeing the corner of the book with his boot. I fight to not roll my eyes. Of course he has, he's read

every book in the whole damn wizarding world, "Of course, only when I was trying to keep my mind busy. I'd ask, but I'm afraid your love life is

of no interest to me," He speaks slowly, each word punctuated.

I raise my eyes to look at him, as I had been staring at the floor, with ferocity in my gray eyes. Uncle merely raises his black brow.

My anger flares and my hand twitches towards my wand, stuffed into my robe. Perceptive as always, Uncle sees this and the corner of his

pencil-thin mouth quirks upward, amused. With the strength only Slytherins seem to possess, I swallow my rage and stand up.

"That's not your business," I hiss and trod away towards the classroom door, my robes swinging out behind me. I smile and shake

my head. I always have had a flair for the dramatic.

* * *

In Potions, he's sitting across the room, looking over the mudblood's shoulder, probably copying her notes. It helps a little that he's

so far away, but it doesn't keep me from staring. Uncle's eyes keep flitting over to me at, in true Snape fashion, regular intervals.

I try to focus on my potion, unsure what we're even doing. Look up to the board. Right, Draught of Living Death, I try to focus on my

potion, I really do, but just minutes later thick white smoke is filling the classroom, strangling the air that's in here. I groan as I recognize my

mistake, using Billywig Stings instead of Valerian root.

The smoke finds its way down my throat and I gag. It tastes like it smells, bad. Almost like rotten fruit and sour milk. Choking on the

thick smoke, I double over and begin coughing. Faintly, I can hear the other students coughing and retching, but it's very soft, like when my

ears are stuffed with cotton wool. I realize that the smoke had drifted into my ears, making everything hard to hear.

The smoke begins to swirl, lazily, as soundless words tumble from my Uncle's mouth. A pain begins behind my eyes as the smoke

clears itself from my head. Slowly, I regain my hearing. There's a stir amongst us, I can feel the frantic energy building, like a nervous Cornish

pixie. The usual reaction when something out of the ordinary happens. Over near the Gryffindor side of the room, people stand about, looking

around with narrowed eyes for the cause.

My tie strains uncomfortably against my neck as I fight to look over the throng of people. I can't help but look for him, make sure he's

okay. I see messy black hair and let out a breath I hadn't been holding. I curse myself for making such a foolish mistake and then again for

caring so much. Watching out for the boy-who-lived will be the death of me someday.

Uncle is watching me carefully, worry in the cardboard creases of his face. He knows I wouldn't usually make a mistake like that. I

steadfastly ignore him.

"What's wrong Malfoy? Can't make a decent potion?" Harry calls from across the room. Ouch. That one hurt. Not because I can

actually make a potion, probably far better than he, but because of the venom in his voice. Again, I glue on a carefully arranged scowl and

open my mouth to say something, and again, nothing comes out. I fix him with a half-hearted dirty look and shut my mouth. Next to me, Goyle

lands a meaty hand on my back, a Neanderthal attempt at comfort, and I jerk away, turning back towards my cauldron. My cauldron is a

melted pile of rubbish. It doesn't even resemble a cauldron anymore! How can such a small mistake make such a disaster?! I scowl at the lump

of black pewter.

"Harry leave him alone," A high voice trills. In shock, I turn around, my features arranged in a scowl. The youngest blood traitor

Weasel is tugging on his arm, her red hair flying behind her. Harry is standing behind her, mouth half-open, like he was going to say

something. For just a second, my mask of anger, my safety net, falls and for the heartbeat that my eyes meet his, longing floods my face. But

then I'm back behind my mask of hatred, where I'm safe.

"Got something you want to say, Potter?" I hear Goyle rumble, again stepping up to flank me. Really, I think he does this out of

instinct now. As Harry opens his mouth, confusion in his eyes, Goyle decks him, his meaty fist landing square on his nose. There's a crack and I

wince as I hear his nose break. Blood begins flowing as he hits the floor. I know Goyle may not be the brightest person in the world, but

decking someone in the middle of class is just stupid, even for him. Uncle rushes towards him, his black eyes on Harry.

"You idiot!" I scream, turning to fling my rage at Goyle. Before I can land my fists on any part of Goyle, Uncle heals Harry silently with

just a wave of his wand, apparently finding the "Episkey" spell too simple to utter, and helps him stand. I take a breath, he's alright. Everyone

looks at me with pure rage except for Harry, whose emotions flicker between confusion and anger. Of course they're all angry with _me_; I'm the

former Death Eater. When anything goes wrong it's my fault in their eyes. I didn't even touch him yet it's my fault.

"Draco, walk with Harry to Madam Pomfrey," Uncle says loudly, somehow even turning those few words into an obnoxious

statement. I roll my eyes, a practiced motion, and then arrange my features into a scowl. I know he just needs the cause of the excitement,

Harry and I, out of the classroom so he can get everyone calmed and back to normal.

"Professor," I hiss, false venom in my voice.

"Mr. Malfoy, you will do what I say," Uncle says slowly, as if I'm stupid. I open my mouth about to whip out a witty comment that

would earn me a detention, but then I see the look in his eyes and I'm stumped. I can't place it. It's a mix somewhere between bemusement

and irritation, like he's amused by the entire situation. In my peripheral vision I see Harry groan and throw a scowl towards his friends.

"As for you Mr. Goyle, fifteen points from Slytherin and a month of detentions," Snape growls somewhere behind us.

It's an awkward walk and the silence between us is filled with tension, mostly from Harry's side. Usually there are other students in

the halls to provide noise and diffuse the weight of the silence, but classes are going on and it's empty, making the quiet between us even

more pronounced.

"What? No smart comment? No jibe at how I can't take a punch?" Harry jeers. It's as if I can see the gears working in his head,

trying to subtly figure out a way to get under my skin. I run a hand through my hair, a nervous habit I've grown.

I imagine going up to him, kissing him long and hard, then telling him I love him, how I've always loved him. Key word: imagine.

Malfoys don't work like that. We stand dignified and wait for things to come begging to us, falling on their knees. What a stupid way to go

about things. If you want something badly enough, you fight for it.

I realize that Harry's silent. Madam Pomfrey's is still a ways away and I figure he's trying to think of something to say that will get

under my skin.

"Why do you hate me?" I hear myself ask. I slam my mouth shut and immediately stare at the floor. I didn't mean to say that; it had

simply slipped out. How could I be so stupid? Fighting the urge to curl up in one of Hogwarts various corners and die the death a Malfoy

doesn't deserve, I glance over at Harry. Maybe he doesn't hate me, I think to myself. But, he hasn't answered yet, which is a bad sign. Glance

number two, there's no emotion on his face. He's as blank as a new sheet of parchment.

I shouldn't have said that. It's such a vague question. Not that any of my others are much better, but with this one the number of

responses he could have simply explodes.

"Because you're an ass….Draco," Harry says simply. I replay his voice in my head over and over again to make sure I'm right. There

is no sarcasm and he did _not _call me Malfoy. This is a victory in my books.

I could scream with joy, but I don't. Malfoy's stand dignified and we nod. So that's what I do. That is to say, I nod.

***Thanks for reading! Please review and share!**


	2. Chapter 2

***AN: Thanks to those who read and ****_Tenshi Yama- Angel of Darkness _****for reviewing. Means so much! I forgot to mention this the first time but I'd like to thank my betas- ****_SnowSheba_**** and ****_Pure Hearted Tyrant, _****they are so amazing! Whatever mistakes they missed are mine and mine only, please point them out and I'll correct them as soon as I can. I have a feeling I should mention something else about the story...maybe it'll come to me later. I dunno. Please enjoy!***

The Hospital Wing is just around the corner and we walk those three meters in silence.

I push open the grand double doors of the Hospital Wing and walk inside, pausing near one of the beds. Madame Pomfrey is tending

to some boy, whose face resembles a blowfish, swollen and puffy, near the back of the room. I wait patiently and then glance over at Harry,

who is covered in blood and shifting his weight from foot to foot impatiently. Finally she finishes and motions the boy to lie down before closing

the curtain around him and walking over to us.

"What happened? Nothing looks to be wrong with either of you," Madame Pomfrey asks, hands gesturing wildly. The woman must be

blind! Harry is covered in blood and she thinks nothing is wrong! I count to ten in an attempt to reign in my frustration. It doesn't work.

"Professor Snape sent us," Harry offers. It's a pointless suggestion and I can't resist the urge to elbow him sharply in the ribs. He

shoots me a dirty look and I pray to Merlin I haven't just returned us back to square one. Despite her questions about what was wrong she

examines Harry, occasionally sending venomous looks my way. I retreat slowly with my hands up.

"It wasn't my fault, Goyle hit him," I say in my defense. She raises her white eyebrow, but stops with the dirty looks. I sigh in relief.

The last thing I need right now is for her to throw the blame my way as well. Just because I have the Dark Mark doesn't mean I'm a Death

Eater anymore. I tried every remedy in the book to try and remove the damn thing, and it won't go away. It just stays stubbornly inked into

my skin, a black blemish against my ghostly skin. Needless to say I don't wear short-sleeved shirts very often.

The war is over, yet everyone still looks at me like I'm Voldemort himself. There are days when I don't even want to get out of bed to

face all the people who hate me. And on my way to classes, I've had hexes come so close to my head that they leave a furious red mark on my

cheek and I can feel the burn of it.

I watch as Madame Pomfrey runs her wand over Harry's body, murmuring spells under her breath. The dried blood flies off of Harry

and just disappears in the air. I readjust my silver and green tie and straighten my robes. Run a hand through my hair, making it stand up on

end. I've given up on slicking it back every day and it's grown out, almost to my chin. I really should get one of the girls to cut it, but every girl

under seventh year just fawns and points, or hexes.

"He's fine," Madame Pomfrey finally states. Her arms are crossed and her eyes are narrowed down at me in loathing. Being the son

of a former Death Eater, and one yourself, tends to get that sort of response. Instinctively, I shake the long sleeve of my robe well over my left

arm. I nod curtly and turn to leave, expecting Harry to follow. Which he does.

We walk back to Potions in silence. As I walk in the room, Uncle's eyes are immediately on me. I shove all of my stuff into my bag,

ignoring everyone's pointed looks. I sling my bag over one shoulder and walk over to Uncle, avoiding everyone's eyes.

"Uncle, I need some time…you understand," I say quietly, keeping my eyes down. I straighten the edge of a stack of parchment on

Uncle's desk.

"Draco, you cannot run from your problems," He whispers. I shake my head and turn around, walking away.

"I'm not running," I whisper back, knowing he can hear me. I feel every eye on me as I stalk out the room. The door shuts behind

me and I think about where to go. Room of Requirement is out, that was destroyed during the war. There's always the lake….but I'm not quite

sure that the mermaids would take very kindly to me.

After a few minutes of deliberation and uncertainty, I decide. The sweet shop. At this point in the day, there's going to be no one

there and I have a terrible sweet tooth. I think back and wonder if the one-eyed crone was destroyed. Then I laugh harshly. I'm an eighth

year, I can basically go wherever I want, no more sneaking around. Adjusting the bag on my shoulder, I begin the walk to Hogsmeade.

I tighten the jacket around me as I step outside. There's fresh snow on the ground. I hate snow. It's cold and wet and just awful.

My boots crunch into the white powder and, out of amusement, I kick a bit up into the air, only to be rewarded with a wet boot. I sigh in

distaste and continue walking. When it starts to snow again I pull a hat from my bag and push it onto my head. It's not one of those furry,

overexpensive ones. Just a simple Slytherin knit.

The warm atmosphere of Honeydukes greets me and I take a deep breath. It always smells amazing in here. Maybe I'll stop by

Madame Puddifoot's after this. Yes, that's what I'll do. I'll stop by Madame Puddifoot's for coffee and to think….or read. I look around quickly,

already knowing what I want. I buy a bag of Chocoballs, two Chocolate Frogs, a sugar quill, and two Licorice Wands. These all go in my bag

and I linger around Honeydukes for just a little bit longer, enjoying the warmth. When beads of sweat start around the collar of my jacket, I

walk out the door into the frigid air. On the way to Madame Puddifoot's I nibble on a Chocoball. The chocolate spreads through my body,

sending out a soft warmth. It's a long walk to the Tea shoppe and for most of the way I'm shivering and thinking of Harry. For a stupid moment

I wonder if the two are related.

He wouldn't like me even if we were the only two alive and crammed in a broom-shed together. Even if we were, by some miracle, to

start going out then there are so many things we'd have to work through to make it work. Merlin, there are so many things. Many of them I'd

like to not think about, so I'm not going to.

The tea shoppe is empty and just as warm as Honeydukes. I sigh in relief and slide out of my jacket, draping it over my arm. I look

around, the place is empty. Just how I like it. There's a squishy armchair over to the corner. I run a hand through my hair and sink down into it.

I reach into my bag and pull out, first a sugar quill, then my book. Chewing the end of the quill I thumb through the yellowing pages until I find

my spot. Comfortably, I sit in the armchair and sip at hot tea, slowly sinking further into the world of words.

"Mister Malfoy, it's time for dinner," Madame Puddifoot lays a hand on my shoulder. I sigh and nod, shutting my book slowly. I might

as well go and eat, as I can't really ignore everyone forever. As I pull on my jacket and knit, I wish I hadn't eaten all of my candy.

The walk is long and atrocious. The snow is cold and wet. The white flakes fall onto my face, little fingertips of cold. Wiping my face

on my sleeve, I continue walking, even faster this time. I pass Honeydukes and I have to resist the urge to walk into the warmth of the candy

shoppe.

Finally I make it into the castle and I stamp my boots against the rough stone, white patches of snow surrounding me. A cold drop of

water slides its way down my neck and I shudder before shaking the snow out of my hair like a dog. Suddenly I laugh, had Pansy been here

then she would have shrieked. I sober in half a heartbeat and stand up. I straighten my tie and adjust my bag. There's no one in the halls, but

I look around anyway, just in case.

I'm nearly to the Great Hall when I realize it. That's the first time I've genuinely laughed in…. two years I think. Merlin, it felt good. I

smell food and close my eyes, willing to just follow the delicious smell. I walk a couple of steps and then stop. When I was prisoner at the

Manor, they often gave me nothing but stale bread that cracked against the stone floor and pumpkin juice. If I were lucky they'd give me half

an apple, already nibbled through by rats, or a palm's amount of crumbled cheese. For months on end that'd be all I'd have. When I came back

to Hogwarts, after the war, my robes hung on my body, and I ate so much that first day that that night I was sick, spending it wrapped around

the toilet.

I push open the grand double doors and stride over to the Slytherin table, mostly filled with new, bright-eyed first years, all star-

struck. Yeah, there are some people from last year, and some sixth and seventh years that have come back, but not many. I pick a spot by

Pansy and immediately begin piling my plate. Shephards Pie, Yorkshire pudding, and loads more.

"Draco, where were you? We couldn't find you anywhere," She speaks as the fork is halfway to my mouth, her hand on my shoulder,

delicate fingers and long nails, a dainty touch. I shovel food into my mouth to stall. Casually, I shrug out of her touch, it's not that I don't like

her; I just don't want _her _touch. I want Harry's touch, calloused hands and broad fingers splayed out on my shoulder.

"I needed time," I answer. There's no space between bites and I soon have another forkful of food between my teeth. There's a

silence going around the table and I look up from my plate, everyone is staring at me. I don't know what I'm doing that's so fascinating, so I

keep eating. Silence, I've learned, can be one of the best answers. More food, more silence. After an agonizing few seconds, I hear forks

scraping plates and the tension in my shoulders melt.

I still don't know what they were staring at. I mean, yeah, I have been acting strange since the war ended, but don't I have a right

to? I was held prisoner in my own home, under the darkest wizard of our time. After two years of that now I have all of this freedom and food

and I don't have a clue what to do. I have a right to be confused and….I look up and catch Harry's green eyes, curious and probing. I feel a

blush creep up on my neck and I quickly slap my hand over it and stare back down at my plate.

Damn, I'm sure he saw that. I look up just enough to spoon treacle tart onto my plate. I should probably look up now to keep

people from thinking wrong of me. Slowly, I lift my head to casually look around the Great Hall. Slowly, almost painfully, my eyes make their

way to the Gryffindor table. The mudblood is holding a thick book in her lap, holding it up and open with one hand and guiding a forkful of

kidney pudding towards her mouth. I watched, gluing a bored expression on my face, a careful look of disinterest. If it falls onto her book I'm

going to laugh.

My eyes glide over the next of the Golden Trio, the red-headed Weasley. He's, like always, stuffing his face. I run a hand through my

hair and almost pause at the next person. He's bent over his plate, like there's still a world on his broad shoulders, and just picking through

his food. Suddenly he slices brutally through a sprout and looks up, sighing. Again, his eyes meet mine and my instincts shout at me to duck

my head and avoid him, but I resist. I'm stronger than that. We lock stares for almost a minute. I swear, I can feel my heart stop in my chest. I

study him, well his face anyway. He looks…non venomous for once, like he doesn't want to kill me. Whether he does or not isn't my problem, or

it wasn't. But it became my problem when I decided to fall for him. So, this is a new victory. I calmly lay a hand on my chest, feeling my heart

begin to stutter and race and even falter, as if I can calm it. Harry still doesn't take his eyes off of me. His head tilts to the left and there's the

slightest angling of his eyebrows. Anyone other than I would have paid no attention to it, but because I have watched him so obsessively for

the past few months, I know this look. It's a look of innocent curiosity, usually given to girls he's after and sometimes his friends. There's no

hostility, nothing. It makes my heart stop for a moment and I have to look away, back at my plate of food.

"Draco, what's wrong? You look all…funny and stuff," Blaise asks quietly. I could laugh, but I just shake my head and brush my hair

over my face to hide the smile I can't contain.

"Just feeling a bit sick I guess," I answer, giving a sly look to Blaise, who just shakes his head and looks away. He knows. I know he

knows. He just doesn't show it. He's pretty good like that, as a mate I mean.

The Weasley girl walks up to me, her red hair plaited over her shoulder, a ribbon winding through the fiery strands. I can see why

Harry was obsessed with her. She stops a couple feet from me, in case I'm still dangerous I guess. She holds out a scroll, bone white and

slender.

"Don't be flattered, McGonagall is forcing me to invite you," She says venomously. I shrug and run a hand through my hair. I look up

and see the contempt on her face, like she can't decide whether or not she wants to spit on me. I just sit there staring at the scroll for a

moment before realizing that I should probably say something. I look up, but she's gone. Sighing, I unroll the scroll and bend it backwards,

creasing it just enough so that it stays open.

I look up and glance around the Great Hall, a handful of the students are propping open a scroll, eyes scanning the page. I notice

that the only ones with scrolls are eighth years, war survivors. Some of them have their mouths curled downwards in a frown, others are fist-

pumping the air in…excitement?

A pit of dread begins in my stomach and suddenly, I don't want to read the scroll, but I have to get it over with sometime. Come on

Malfoy, don't be a prat. I take a deep breath and read over the spindly letters. I have to read over the words several times before it begins to

make sense in my head. It's an invitation. To a party. In the trophy room. At midnight. All eighth years are invited and the dress style is casual,

muggle clothes or wizard robes. I sigh and shake my head, of course I wasn't going to go.

But Harry was probably going to be there…Again, I sigh and run a hand through my hair. Why is my life so complicated? There are

going to be people there. People who hate what they think I've done with my life. People who wouldn't blink an eye at the thought of torturing

me, my family. I wouldn't even consider going if I weren't in love with Harry Potter. But I am.

***Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

***AN Thank you so much to all of those who are reading this and especially to those who are reviewing, it truly makes my day. I'm a little worried that I get a little OOC down the line and if I do I am SO SO SORRY. I try to stay in character. I really do. Anyway, enjoy!***

**.**

I look down at my plate, half full of treacle tart and suddenly I'm not hungry. But, I can't disappear again. Blaise wouldn't ask me directly, he'd

wait until later, when everyone but he and I were fast asleep. And he wouldn't even ask questions about who it was, he already knows, he

would ask why I haven't done a bloody thing about it. Pansy would grab my arm, nails digging through the fabric, and ask me with a forced

calmness where I was going. Goyle would half look up, and then go back to shoveling food into his mouth. I can't leave. Rumors would spread

faster than I could stop them.

.

The last thing I need right now are more rumors spreading about me. They act like I don't hear them, the whispered congregations

of people in semi-dark corners. But, oddly enough, when people are talking about you, everything they say is enhanced and every word that

slides between their teeth, that unhitch themselves from the tip of their tongues, are made perfectly clear. It's as if there's someone right by

your ear, whispering into it. Nine out of ten times there usually is.

.

Rivulets of pain begin right around my temples and instinctively I begin rubbing them. If I weren't so blonde then I'd probably have a

head of gray hair. Pansy lays a hand over mine, her thumb pressing into the crevice between my thumb and forefinger. I slide my hand gently

from under hers, trying to be polite. My life may be a mess, but that doesn't mean hers has to be too. I sigh and spoon an unwanted bite of

treacle tart into my mouth. I force myself to swallow and then push away my plate. I can't do that. I can't fake a happy.

.

I stand up and leave the Great Hall, catching the green eyes of a certain man before running a hand through my overlong hair and

leaving. I don't know where to go. But the dorms are probably empty, so it might be safe to go there…until someone walks in. I need to see if I

have anything to wear to the party anyway.

.

I go through my trunk, shock filing away at my mind, leaving me absent-minded. All I seem to own are dress robes and neat, formal, clothes.

And I almost laugh at the notion of me owning muggle clothes. I hold up a black shirt to my chest, only to toss it aside in search of something

better. I grumble and toss aside several pants and many shirts and even a pair of shoes before falling to the ground in defeat. I have

absolutely nothing to wear.

.

"What is wrong with you? You know, other than crushing on the Boy-Who-Lived," I hear Blaise ask calmly. I look up to him from the floor and

make sure he's alone before responding honestly.

.

"I have nothing to wear," I say in defeat, looking back up at the ceiling of our dorm. You know, I've never noticed it before, but our ceiling is a

very eerie mottled green, like a grindylow's skin. There's silence and I don't have to look to know that Blaise is shaking his head. Then it hits

me, he's alone.

.

"Where's Goyle and Pansy?" I ask, irritated. I sit up and look at him, tossing my bangs out of my eyes. It's a miracle he's come alone, really it

is. The cow should have followed him, she's borderline crazy and Goyle should have realized everyone was leaving and followed the crowd,

that's how he usually remembers to leave the Great Hall after meals.

.

"Don't be so self-absorbed Draco," Blaise teases lightly. I raise an eyebrow. When he doesn't answer for a moment, I'm not even sure he can

see it under my blonde hair. Then he chuckles and walks closer, crouching down to be level with my eyes.

.

"I told them you were puking," He comments. I could almost laugh. Pansy hates anything having to do with bodily fluids (how she will handle

sex, I have no idea) and Goyle doesn't like the thought of losing his food and neither of them are clever enough to ask how Blaise knew this

when I had been gone all day. I fall back down onto my pile of clothes and Blaise laughs.

.

"Here let me help," He offers, extending a broad hand to help me up. I eye him for a moment before allowing him to pull me to my feet, landing

carefully to avoid stepping on an expensive robe. Like I said, I'm not loaded. I quickly pull my hand from Blaises, not wanting our easy

friendship to turn awkward. He turns towards his bed and opens the trunk at the foot of it. I hear him cluck his tongue in disapproval and I

watch with interest as he doesn't throw clothes around like I do, he just rummages neatly through his trunk. I stand against the wall and wait,

unworried. Blaise has a sensible style that I come to appreciate in moments like this. Footsteps echo off of the stone steps and I glance

towards the open door. This would be a bad moment for Goyle to walk in.

.

"Colloportus," Blaise mumbles, flicking his hand towards the door. It shuts with a bang and I hear the click as it locks. Slowly, I turn back

towards Blaise, who has is back turned from me, still rummaging around in his trunk, in amazement. I wasn't aware he was capable of

wandless magic. It occurred to me that I didn't really know much about Blaise, including how capable of magic he really was. I hear Goyle begin

banging on the wood, which gives slightly under the force. It doesn't take long before the bangs are accompanied with shouts and profanities.

Again, Blaise just waves his hand towards the door and the shouting stops. This time I don't hear a charm grace my ears, although I know

which one he used. Nonverbal _and _wandless magic, I must have really been focused on Harry to not have noticed Blaise's talent. There are

very few people here that can accomplish both, and at the same time.

.

"I've got it," He stands up straight and gives a low whistle of approval. Blaise turns around and the shirt immediately catches my eyes. It's

white and collared and crisp, with the Hogwarts crest emblazoned on the left breast.

.

"And I'm supposed to go….without any pants? Subtle much?" I snap sarcastically. Blaise frowns and turns back to his trunk. Seconds later he's

holding a casual pair of black pants draped over his arm. I sigh and stand up. Blaise hands the clothes to me and I shake my head. This still

seems too formal.

.

"I may have very little dignity in front of you, but at least close your eyes so that I can keep whatever I have left," I say. He raises his hands to

his eyes and I have to fight to not hold up fingers and see if he's looking. I turn around, back towards him, and change quickly. The pants are

too long and the shirt is kind of loose, but I roll up the bottoms twice or so and tuck in the shirt, leaving the collar open. I turn back around.

Blaise opens his eyes just as I do so and I have a feeling that he was watching, but it's nothing he hasn't seen before. He whistles softly as

his eyes take me in. Obviously he approves, but when I ask he refuses to let me look into a mirror.

.

There's a pause and Blaise reaches down and snatches my tie from the floor, rubbing it between his fingers. He studies it, thinking. I'm not

surprised when he steps closer and slides it around my neck, tying it loosely, a couple of inches away from my neck. Next, he tugs the fabric to

where he wants it.

.

"Can I look now?" I ask impatiently, sure I look silly and too formal. But Blaise claps me on the shoulder and turns me to face the mirror. All I

can do is look appreciatively. I look completely at ease and the fabric crinkles and falls at all the right spots, making me look…well…quite

attractive.

.

"Robe or no robe?" Blaise asks, holding a black robe beside me. I grimace and he nods, tossing it onto the bed behind him. I look at him over

my shoulder and raise an eyebrow, and then begin laughing too hard to stand up straight. He joins in after a startled moment and I fall over

onto my bed, my stomach starting to cramp from the explosive laughter.

.

I'm not sure what's so funny, but it feels good to laugh without a reason. Maybe it's out of nervousness because of the party in a couple of

hours, but I don't care. There's a person who doesn't hate my guts, and he's laughing with me. It's nice.

.

Blaise and I spend the next hours in the dormitory, playing mindless wizard chess and casting minor hexes and jinxes on each other. Then

11:55 strikes and all of my cool confidence, whatever I have, disappears. My heart begins to flutter and race, on the verge of stopping

completely, and I begin to have trouble breathing. I really could laugh at myself. I, a Malfoy, am becoming so flustered by the mere thought of

seeing Harry Potter, boy who lived. I'm not star struck, just in love. I sit down and bury my head in my hands. I feel Blaise's hand lay across

the back of my neck. I'm such a prat. I shouldn't even go. I'd just make a fool of myself. My thoughts begin whirring too fast for me to

concentrate and I take a shaky breath in, an attempt at calming myself, to keep the tears from flowing.

.

Suddenly, Blaise yanks at the tie around my neck sharply, forcing me to stand up. His brown eyes meet mine and he grabs my shoulders

roughly, turning me around. I stumble forward as he kicks me towards the door. He laughs and I throw my hand behind me, giving Blaise the

middle finger. It only makes him laugh harder. I smile and shake my head, opening the door and walking into the common room. I can't help

but notice that as Pansy looks at me; her eyes widen just a touch. She doesn't even get a glance. No one else seems to be dressed for a

party and my stress level rises. There's probably a reason why I seem to be the only Slytherin going….and therefore probably outnumbered by

Gryffindors, which will probably end in my demise.

.

I shrug and force myself to keep walking. There are no teachers out and I suspect that they're all in their private rooms doing Merlin-knows-

what. I try to keep my mind off of the party and end up quoting the instructions for Sleeping Draught, going through the entire process in my

head. When I reach the Trophy Room on the third floor, I'm at the spot where I leave to brew on its own and it takes me a moment to realize

that I'm here. There's music floating softly from under the door. I take a breath and push it open, walking into the room. For the first time I can

remember, I don't want a dramatic entrance. I don't want to be the center of attention. In fact, I just want to fade into the background. But,

for a former Death Eater in a room full of Gryffindors and other non pro Dark Arts, it's as if there's a spotlight trained on me. The room gets

quiet and all I can hear is the music coming from an enchanted radio, the Weird Sisters crooning from the speakers. The room is thick with

anger and venomous glares, clearly stating that I'm not accepted there. I run a hand through my hair and glance around the room, looking for

messy black hair and wire-frame glasses.

.

He's at the back of the room standing with the Weasel and the Mudblood and, like everybody; their stares are fixated on me. The Weasel

looks like he wants to hit me and the Mudblood has disapproval radiating around her. Harry just looks…empathetic. Taking a risk, I let down

my mask of haughty indifference and silently beg Harry to help me. There's a change in his expression, just a slight one. One only I would

notice and it blares out at me like a white spot on a black cloak, as it's the one I've been looking for. His eyebrows scrunch together and he

stares at the floor, refusing to meet my eyes. It's his conflicted look and it only lasts a couple of seconds before he sighs and moves his gaze

to the ceiling. I look at the floor angrily, I shouldn't have come. It was stupid to even consider it. Suddenly there's a gasp that goes through

the crowd, surprised murmurs that find their way from mouth to mouth.

.

"You can at least look at me," Harry whispers and I look up in shock. Harry is standing beside me in all his glory, looking stunning in a simple

shirt and pants. He holds out his hand and I take it in a friendly handshake. He slides his hand out of mine and walks over to a table partially

hidden by students. Everyone gradually goes back to minding their own business and I'm out of the spotlight. Harry grabs two glasses and

pours a generous amount of Ogden's Firewhiskey into both. I take one shakily from him and take a sip. It rips a path of fire down my throat

and I fight the urge to cough. Instead I down the glass and Harry pours me another. I raise the glass to my lips and look over the rim to see

that Harry is watching me, half his firewhiskey gone. Lowering the glass, I stare at him curiously.

.

"Why did you help me?" I ask quietly. Harry points his wand at the radio and the volume of the music increases dramatically, forcing me to get

close to Harry to hear his answer. I feel his breath on my cheek and have to close my eyes against the wave of love/lust that runs through me,

opening them when it's over.

.

"Because the war is over and I'm not an immature git," Harry says quietly. The impatience is subtle, but I hear it and raise an eyebrow. What

could he be anxious for? He looks around the crowd and takes a swallow of his firewhiskey. I watch him carefully. There are light purple circles

under his eyes and his hair is messier than usual. I reach out and lightly brush my thumb under his eye. He closes his eyes for just a moment

before whipping his head around to face me in shock. I freeze, breathing heavy and taking my hand away from him. Oh Merlin what have I

done?

.

**Thanks for reading! The little dots inbetween the paragraphs are to separate the paragraphs. I didn't like them not separated, so I had to fix that and I don't know how to separate them any other way. Sorry if they bother you**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Sorry this chapter is a little short. And THERE IS SOME LEMONY-NESS. Read at your own risk.**

It was just a touch, but it wasn't even remotely casual. I look at him and run a hand through my hair; making parts of it stand up on end. I

down the rest of my glass and another and I watch Harry do the same. Carefully, I arrange my face into a mask of what I hope is neutral

emotion, but I know I've drunk enough to make my feelings clear as day. I give up and drop the neutral look.

.

"Well that was strange," Harry mumbles, his tongue obviously loosened by the alcohol. I smile and shake my head, unable to believe that he

wasn't running from me. He laughs and I grin. We spend an hour talking amiably, fueled by our alcohol induced spirits, when the Weasel

saunters up, apparently trying to look cool for Granger.

.

" 'Arry what are you doing with Malfoy?" He slurs angrily, sending stares full of daggers my way. I roll my eyes and slouch against the wall, not

caring how much of a git I looked like. For the first time in two years I feel weightless, as if the world is no longer on my shoulders. I realize

that I care too much of what people think of me and it's keeping me from being an actual living person. I'm just trying too hard.

.

"Ron, the war is over, I think I can talk to whomever I like," Harry says off-handedly, waving his hand indifferently. I grin and throw my arm

around Harry, completely at ease. Weasley stares at us crossly before stalking off. Harry starts singing this drinking song and I join in. No one

bothers to pay us any notice as the music is loud and there is plenty of alcohol to keep everyone's spirit's light. Every other verse Harry and I

take a long swallow of firewhiskey. His hand brushes across my neck and I lean into his touch. He notices and pulls me ever so closer to him. I

take our nearly empty glasses and set them on the table.

.

"B-but there's just a little left, lemme finish it Draco, c'mon," Harry protests, reaching across me to try and grab his glass, stumbling. I'm having

none of that though. I shove him into a corner away from the mass of people, in semi-darkness, and press my lips to his. At this point it's

purely the firewhiskey speaking for me and probably Harry too, but nonetheless he kisses back….vigorously. His lips are softer than I

expected. I run my hands through his hair and down his back, stopping hesitantly at the waist of his pants. Harry runs his hands up my shirt,

just barely skimming my skin, leaving trails of burning desire. I moan and pull him closer, holding him flush against me.

.

I bend down and nip at his neck, bringing a gasp from him. I feel my pants becoming much too tight and I lick the hollow at the base of his

neck. Harry begins a slow, lazy grind and I bring my lips back to his. My fuzzy brain is trying to keep up with my racing thoughts, but it's failing

wretchedly. So, I try to get the facts together. Fact one, I am kissing Harry Potter. Fact two, we are both miserably, irreversibly drunk. His

tongue swipes across my bottom lip, distracting me from fact three. I open my mouth and the fight for dominance begins. I whimper and

submit, heat coursing through my aching being. His tongue slides across mine and I can almost hear myself moan. Harry unexpectedly flips us

around, pinning me against the wall and grinding into me. I gasp at the shock of it and daringly slide my hands around his waist, gently

squeezing. He groans and breaks the kiss, resting his head on my shoulder. I twist my fingers into his hair and slide my hand up from his ass

to the small of his back, holding him to me. Turning my head, I gently bite his ear, my lower body twitching at his hiss of approval.

.

"So Harry," I murmur, voice full of heat and need. Harry grinds into me harder, moaning softly. "Where to?"

.

He moans at my offer and presses his hardness against my thigh, dying for friction. I fist my fingers in his hair and do the hardest thing I've

ever had to do, I push him away. Harry groans softly at the lack of contact and my eyes flutter closed for a moment, oh what he does to me…

I'm dying to bring his lips back to mine, to feel the heat.

.

"'Harry….not 'ere," I slur, my head falling back against the wall. I open my eyes and Harry has a mischievous glint in his, like he knows

something I don't. Hard enough to hurt, I just clumsily raise an eyebrow in response. Harry slips his rough fingers through mine and pulls me

through the crowd. I can feel the calluses and rough spots worn into his skin. We weave our way through the moving bodies, in rhythm with

the music. They all run into me, but spare me no more than a dirty look then go back to dancing. The music and alcohol has certainly lifted the

mood of the party. Harry pulls us out of the trophy room and into the darkened hallways. I blink rapidly, trying to make my eyes adjust to the

sudden change of lighting. I run into Harry, unable to see in this wretched darkness. Harry laughs drunkenly and I'm pulled along by my hand.

I love his laugh, even when it's drunken. I don't like being given only the harsh side of Harry. I want the Harry that smiles at every turn, and

the one that laughs easily, the loving one. I stumble forward, Harry pulled roughly at my hand, and through a doorway.

.

Immediately he shoves me up against a wall and pushes his tongue between my lips. I hear the wall creak in protest and fight a smile. Is

Harry always the dominant one? I try to follow to that train of thought but Harry's wandering hand keeps me distracted. I moan as his fingers

brush over a sensitive spot on my ribs. I break the kiss and my lips spread in a small smile, a rarity in recent times, at the moan of protest that

escapes. My pants become even tighter as I press my lips to the warm skin on Harry's neck, gently nibbling. Harry threads his fingers through

my hair, holding me to him as he whimpers and groans. I run my fingers over the little buttons, their engravings a ridge against my fingertips.

Of all nights, why must he wear buttons? It's frustrating enough just having the fabric between us, but buttons? Seriously? I pop each button

out of its hole and pull his shirt open, exposing his inviting chest, I all but groan at the sight. I knew he had a great body, from the way his

robes sometimes hugged him if he leaned the right way, but this was…wow.

.

I take a last lick at his neck before kissing my way down. He tastes divine. _This _is what I've been chasing after. His little whimpers when he

wants more and his growls when I do something brilliant. It's intoxicating. I press little open mouth kisses down his chest and to the top of his

pants, gently nibbling the skin there. Harry moans quietly and threads his fingers through my hair. I kneel properly in front of him and trace the

outline in his pants. There's a groan above me and the hand in my hair tightens. At least he's not pulling, I've been with guys that pulled hair

before and, needless to say, it didn't last very long. I slide my free hand around Harry and gently squeeze his ass. I moan shamelessly, it feels

delicious in my hand after all the time I've spent ogling it.

.

"Draco," Harry whines, his voice low and airy, full of need. I look up and meet his green eyes, clouded over with lust. My mind isn't as clouded

as before, the firewhiskey making its way through my system, but I know Harry is just as drunk as earlier. He won't want me later, in fact I'll

probably be shoved out of his life with a punch to the face. I almost wince at the thought of it. I'm in love with this man; I can't be brushed off,

just like that. I shake my head in an attempt to ward off the dangerous thoughts. As of right now he wants me as much as I want him. That

has to be good enough for right now.

* * *

I open my eyes and groan, throwing an arm over my face. Why is it so damn bright this early? Blaise knows I hate having the drapes open in

the morning. On top of that my mouth feels like I haven't had anything to drink in weeks, all dry and thick, and my head is pounding. I close my

eyes and attempt to go back to sleep. My eyelids shut of their own accord and last night comes back to me in flashes. Harry Potter went to

bed. With me. But we didn't go back to the dorms. We're in…a classroom? I roll over onto my side and groan as I feel the muscles in my back

popping and stretching. Prying open one eye, I look at what I've been laying on for the past eight hours or so and, sure enough, it's hard

stone. I let my head fall back and almost immediately crack it on the floor. Curses fly out my mouth faster than I thought possible and now I'm

officially in a foul mood. I rub the back of my head. That really hurt. Who's brilliant idea was it to sleep on the floor anyway?

.

Wait a moment. I'm in a classroom after a night of binge-drinking with Harry Potter. I open my eyes completely and look to my left at the warm

body next to me. I fight the urge to crack my head against the floor again at my own stupidity. How could I forget that I had gone to bed with

Harry Potter, the love I've been obsessing over for forever now? Merlin, I'm an idiot. I should have left immediately after Harry had fallen

asleep. He wouldn't want to wake up to me. I'm Malfoy, the has-been Death Eater who still carries the Dark Mark on his arm and his father's

reputation on his coattails. I blow out a breath of frustration and force my eyes open. The mop of black hair is right there in front of me. Unable

to resist, I reach out with one hand and softly twirl a strand around my index finger. He has no idea how often I wish that I could do this, just

touch him, without being reprimanded or punched in the face. Too bad I just ruined my chances….over and over again. I grin at the memory of

last night.

.

Maybe it's not too late….he's still asleep. It won't keep him from waking up and remembering and then subsequently doing some serious

regretting. I sigh and look over at him, his back is to me. He's absolutely adorable and there's dull ache in my chest as I think about leaving

him. Reluctantly I lean over and brush his hair off his neck before closing my eyes and pressing my lips to the warm skin there. I linger for just

a moment before standing up. A trip to Honeydukes seems to be in order. It seems to be my go-to spot when I was confused…or just involved

in any negative emotions.

.

I find my pants, boxers, shoes, socks and tie, but my shirt is nowhere to be seen. I run a hand through my hair in frustration. Why must things

be so difficult! My head is pounding and I feel like I'm about to vomit, my stomach rising to my throat repeatedly. Finally (finally!) I find my

shirt…and Harry's. Merlin's pants! Which shirt was mine? They're both white…with buttons…and the same Hogwarts crest emblazoned on the

left breast. One maybe looked a little bigger than the other, but other than that there was no difference. I growl and pick one at random,

sliding it on over my shoulders. I've managed to button it halfway and I'm almost out of the door when Harry clears his throat behind me. I

freeze dead in my tracks.

**AN: Thanks for reading! And thank you SO MUCH to those who are favoriting, following, and reviewing this story. It means so much!**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Here's chapter 5 or something...please enjoy! And thank you so much to those who are following/favoriting/and reviewing this**

"Where are you going?" Harry asks quietly, his voice still groggy from sleep. I press my lips together tightly in frustration, he's making it very

hard for me to leave.

.

"Didn't think you'd want to wake up with me there," I say stiffly, not turning around to face him. If I looked at him, his bright green eyes, I

know my resolve would crumble and I'd be sliding right back beside him. I should leave. Now. But my legs won't listen to me and I'm stuck

where I stand.

.

"Why wouldn't I?" Harry asks innocently, his voice low and….hurt? There's an unusual twinge of something in his voice, but I can't recognize it.

I haven't heard this tone be used with any of his friends. Not even Ginny. I snort, a short bark of laughter, at the stupidity of his question. Why

wouldn't he want me? Well for starters how about the hideous dark mark on my arm that is a forever reminder of what I was forced into? Or

the fact that I'm Draco Malfoy. I'd never be accepted. _We'd _never be accepted. I pinch the bridge of my nose with my forefinger and thumb,

trying to lessen the heaviness and frustration in my head.

.

I turn around to face him, ignoring the rest of my buttons, and glare into his green eyes. Oh how I want to just let myself melt in his gaze, but

I can't. He needs to know why this can't happen, despite what I want. I harden my features into a mask of indifference, one that no matter

how many times I practice, I know how many cracks it holds.

.

"Why wouldn't you want to wake up with me there? You are Harry Potter, the boy who wouldn't die, and I'm Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater.

We come from two distinctly different sides. You don't want me. You wanted a shag for the night," I cry out angrily, my hurt showing through

more than I wanted, seeping through the cracks in my mask. I'm shouting randomly, grasping at straws, just wanting to get this hurt out.

Tears burn at the back of my eyes but I stand my ground, something I haven't been able to do properly for two years. Even now, it's hard, and

I'm fighting the almost overwhelming urge to back into a corner and make myself unnoticeable. Harry stands up and strides towards me,

stopping just inches away. He's so close I can feel the heat off of his skin and suddenly I can't breathe and my heart races. Why do I have to

love him so much?

.

"Draco, what's wrong?" He asks quietly. I open my mouth to retort, but I can't come up with anything, instead I stare at the ground. There's a

movement in the corner of my eye and I flicker my gaze to look at it. Harry's hands are twitching, like he's keeping himself from doing

something. I take a deep breath and force myself to look at him, almost meeting his green eyes. Almost.

.

"What's wrong with me?" I give a short laugh, completely ignoring the way he said my first name. I'm about to start ranting when his lips are

on mine, warm and pliable. But it's not a chaste kiss, this is all teeth and tongue, like he's trying to prove a point. He breaks away and rubs his

thumb across my cheeks, that's when I know I'm crying. Why did he do that? I'm confused enough. I mean, after all we slept together,

drunken, and he woke up with seemingly no regret. Who does that? I was expecting anger and denial, even yelling and cursing. But softness

and curiosity? What the bloody hell is he playing at? I open my eyes and find him staring at me, breathing hard, and inches from my face. I

need to go. I just, I can't do this. Not right now. My head feels like it's about to fall off, and my mouth feels all dry and too much like cotton

wool for my liking. I back away and turn around and begin sprinting. Harry calls behind me, but no matter how good my name sounds coming

from him I can't go back.

.

I duck under railings and dodge various statues before launching myself over the railing of a stairwell, free falling and catching myself with a

spell later than I normally would have, almost wanting to splat into the floor. I hit the ground running don't stop until I'm in my room. The

common room is empty, it being a Saturday with no classes, and everyone in the room is asleep. I thank Merlin for that. I lean against the

door, my breathing ragged and I'm sure my eyes are red and puffy from crying.

.

I push open the door and walk in the room, facing the floor, shaggy blonde hair hiding my face. Really, it is getting a bit long for my taste, I

should get it cut.

.

"Draco," Blaise practically yells. I wince, to everyone else it probably sounded quiet and normal, but it made my head explode, stars bursting

behind my eyes. Of course Blaise is awake this early on a Saturday. I can't just be alone to deal with my…issues.

.

"Blaise, why are you so loud?" I ask quietly. My throat feels dry and scratchy and I can't even bring myself to swallow. I groan and bring a

hand up to shield my eyes, the early morning sun coming through the curtains and blinding me. Why does it have to be so bright in the

morning? Why do I have to be so hung-over? I drop to my knees with a groan, the shaking of my legs becoming too much. A thud echoes

through the room. Woops. I'm definitely going to feel that later.

.

Strands of hair begin to curtain my face and I run my hand through it to hold it back from me. Argh, this is not going to be a pleasant morning.

Sweat beads at my forehead and my stomach lurches violently, doubling me over as I retch, my stomach contents being forced back up. This is

so gross and SO un-Malfoy like. Every time I breathe in there's a burning in my nose. I fall back against the wall and close my eyes. It feels like

there are lead weights attached to them. Blaise's usually soft step sounds like thunder and I groan, leaning over to vomit again. Ew. This

tastes even worse than Polyjuice Potion. I am NEVER drinking again. Ever.

.

"Tergeo," Blaise mumbles to clean up the vomit, much quieter than the earlier yelling. He must barely be speaking now. Why couldn't Blaise

just have stayed asleep? I don't need his help. Blaise slides his arm around my waist and lifts me up. He's warm and I can't find the words to

protest. I tread on the heels of my shoes with my toes, sliding them off clumsily. It's the most I can manage to do.

.

"You're pitiful, you know that?" Blaise grunts, dragging me to my bed. I scowl up at him. Oh I swear to Merlin if I had it in me I would smack him

upside his head.

.

"I can walk. I just choose not to," I grin evilly, despite the scratchiness of my throat. Blaise drops me onto my bed none too gently and I just

lay there, my legs hanging off the bed. I prop myself up on my elbows and watch Blaise's slim figure go through his trunk. Little brown shapes

covered his pajama pants. What are those? Birds maybe? No, birds aren't brown. Or at least none I've seen are brown.

.

"Mustaches," Blaise answers the question in my head. Not caring what I looked like, my mouth drops open in confusion. Why on Earth would

he have mustaches on his pants? My face must've given away my question as Blaise grins, all shiny white teeth, and shrugs. He makes a noise

of satisfaction and pulls out a vial of a pinkish looking liquid and uncorks it, handing it to me.

.

I don't reach out. I've had enough people shove potions down my throat to keep me cautious. Even through the cannonfire going on in my

head I'm cautious. I'm not that far gone. Blaise's amused face drops and he pales as he realizes what he's doing. His hand draws back and he

steps closer to me, those mustache-pants right in front of my face. He crouches and his brown eyes meet mine, keeping eye contact. He's

asking me to trust him. He places a finger over the opening of the small bottle and flips it upside down, catching a small drop on his finger. I

watch him. He's trying to show me that it's safe, that he's not trying to poison me. Blaise sticks out his tongue and wipes his finger on it,

cleaning it of the droplet. Immediately wisps of smoke begin floating out of his ears. I grin and he smirks, handing me the vial once more.

.

This time I take it from him and swallow it all, emptying it. I sigh as my headache disappears and my throat starts feeling normal. The nausea

cures itself also. Ah what would I do without the Pepperup Potion? Probably sleep it off, I realize.

.

"Now how about a story?" Blaise asks, walking backwards to sit on his bed. I run a hand through my hair and sigh, resisting the urge to pinch

the bridge of my nose between my fingers. Of course Blaise wants a story. I know for a fact he's not talking about some Beedle and the Bard

fairytale my mother used to tell me. He's just being a cheeky git.

.

"Can't you wait until we're alone?" I plead. This is a weak shot and he knows it. We both know Goyle isn't in here. Blaise raises an eyebrow

and I bury my face in my hands, groaning. "Fine, then let me shower at least," I mumble. I swing around and set my feet on the floor, striding

away before giving him the chance to answer.

* * *

Thirty minutes later we're back where we started, except I'm now in my pajamas, having giving up of leaving the dormitory today. Today _is_

Saturday after all. Not even late Saturday, early Saturday. If I don't want to I don't have to leave for two days. And I most certainly do NOT

want to. Why even risk the chance of running into Harry? I've already screwed up what impossibly small chances I had. I flop back on my bed.

Yep, not leaving now.

.

"Storytime," Blaise says with the excitement of a child. Well, to anybody who isn't his best friend it sounds like excitement. No, this is mockery

of a not evil kind. More like amusement. Alright, where do I start? I almost snort at my own stupidity. What an awful question. I know where

exactly I'm going to start, right at the moment when the flaming headed Weasel sister handed me that invitation.

.

I proceed to tell him about the "party" and how I recited the entire process for the Sleeping Draught in order to distract myself. I told him how

Harry saved me and about our rather steamy encounter in the corner, that was moved to some classroom and how we proceeded to have the

best sex I've had in my life. I finish last night and I open my mouth to tell him about this morning, about the shouting and the hung-overness,

but nothing comes out. So, I try again, and this time manage a broken whisper. Tears leak out of my eyes and I wipe at them roughly. No, I

refuse to start crying again. I'm done crying. I cried with Harry, I cried with Blaise, I cried in the shower, no. I'm done.

.

"I shouted at him," I force myself to speak, crushing my eyes closed before opening them and fixating on a certain spot. White smoke is curling

above me, like it's too lazy to do anything else. My ears won't stop smoking for several more hours and I smile in amusement. Good thing I've

decided to stay locked up in the dormitory today. Blaise is silent, waiting for me to continue. I take a shuddering breath and plow on, unwilling

to feel the dull ache that accompanies my words.

.

"I shouted at him. About how he just wanted a shag for the night and why I was going to leave before he woke up," The words come fast and

tumble out of my mouth.

.

"Why were you going to leave?" Blaise asks, his voice soft. He's probing me, trying to dig deeper to the root of my problems. Again, I stare at

the eerie mottled ceiling.

.

"Because he didn't want to wake up to me," I say. It comes out bitter and harsh.

.

"You don't know that," Blaise counters. I give a short laugh, full of hurt. Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. It's still too late for me to go fix things

now. He's surely already gone off to go snog with Ginny to get the taste of me out of his mouth. I grin at the thought of him having to explain

the scratches on his shoulder and the bruise on his neck to her. I'm not exactly the peaceful type when it comes to sex…

.

"I'm not kidding Draco," Blaise says, tearing me from my entertaining thoughts. I know he's not kidding, he's never kidding. Instead of

answering him, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling. The ceiling is the one thing that, in all my eight years here, I'm positive hasn't changed.

It's slightly comforting, although a chocolate frog wouldn't be unwelcome either.

.

"You can't ignore him forever," Blaise speaks again, this time there's a grin in his voice. I can hear it, it's obnoxious.

.

"Why the bloody hell not? It's a good plan," I defend myself against him, feeling the confusing need to do so.

.

"Because I want my shirt back," He laughs. What? I had grabbed my shirt this morning, well, Blaise's shirt. Hadn't I? Of course I had, I think I

know the difference between Blaise's shirt and Harry's. I look down at the shirt that I had tossed onto the floor. It looks the same as the one I

had worn to the party. The tag is peeking out above the collar and there are two letters inscribed there in black ink. Shit. I groan and rub my

eyes, now I'm forced to go see him. I reach for the pillow next to me and sit up only long enough to chuck it at Blaise's head, which only makes

him laugh harder. Yep, it's definitely been decided, I'm not leaving this room today.

**AN: Thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Here's the next chapter. As always thank you to those who are following/favoriting/and reviewing this. It means alot!**

Weeks pass and virtually nothing happens. I'm so tired lately that I usually fall asleep on the long couch in the common room, the cold of the

leather bleeding through my shirt. One time I didn't even respond to Blaise's pushing on my shoulder and he had to carry me up to the

dormitory. He refuses to let me live that down. I pick at the food on my plate, not really hungry. A month ago I was sneaking stares at Harry,

now I go out of my way to avoid him. Several times I've noticed him glancing over at me, once he even walked over and opened his mouth to

say something. I half-heartedly shoved past him before he could get anything out.

.

"Draco, eat," Blaise says, elbowing me sharply in the ribs. I push my plate, still full of shephard's pie, away.

.

"Not hungry," I mutter. It's true, I haven't been hungry for a couple of days. I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with Harry and the

fact that I can't stop obsessing over the man, but I have my doubts. Slender fingers trail up my thigh and I jump half a meter in the air. Beside

me Pansy just laughs, a flirty, girly sound. That woman! Couldn't she take a hint?! Honestly I don't even understand why she's back. I jerk

away from her and stand up hastily from the bench, knocking my goblet over in the process. Goyle looks at me like I've gone loony. I fight the

urge to tell him to shut his mouth before all his food falls out. Pansy looks up in shock and…hurt. I probe my mind and I'm almost disturbed to

discover that I don't care if I've upset her. Blaise simply cleans my mess and doesn't look up at me. I shake my head, I don't need to see him in

order to know what he's thinking. He still doesn't meet my eyes and I shake my head harder, running a hand through my hair, feeling it stick

up haphazardly. This is too much. I have to go. Now. I back away from the table and proceed to stalk out of the Great Hall. I left my stuff at

the table, but it's not worth going back for. Blaise'll grab it for me. I pause and lean against the wall, pressing my forehead against the cold

stone. I gulp at the air, it feels like I can't get enough into my lungs. Merlin, why couldn't I just have a normal crush with a normal person? Not

with the boy who lived, but with, oh, I don't know! Someone the world isn't obsessed with.

.

It wouldn't be so bad if I hadn't had slept with him….repeatedly. That I could deal with. I'd put it into a little box and lock it tight,

away from my day to day thoughts. No, he had to care. Harry had to be curious as to why I was leaving. He had to be so damn adorable and

make me just want to snuggle back in beside him. As if leaving weren't hard enough that morning. Then, icing on top of the damn cake, I had

to go back to the dorm severely hung over and have Blaise take care of me, wheedling the information out of me.

.

Now, every time I pick at my food or lay in bed, unable to sleep, Blaise gives me _that _look, the one that says "why can't you grow a

pair and snog him already". He knows why I can't do that. Yet, he still expects me to give myself up like that. After all that happened in the

War, I can't. I just can't trust that easily. I am Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, Harry may care or may want resolution, but it just won't work.

He is Harry and I am Draco. It's a weak excuse, even I know that, but it's all I have. I wipe my sleeve across my forehead, drying it of the cold

sweat that had collected there.

.

"Draco," Someone speaks softly behind me. Not just anyone, I know that voice. His hand is on my shoulder, but it feels hesitant, like

he doesn't know if it should be. It's broad and I can feel the warmth seep through my robes, making me melt on the inside. It's tempting to

swat him away, but the want to just collapse against him is almost overwhelming. Almost.

.

"What do you want?" I ask him gruffly, I can't bring myself to speak to him harshly. I love him too much. Harry sighs behind me, his

hand falling from my shoulder. My heart thuds in my chest, like my body is letting me know that Harry is missing. I could laugh, I know his touch

is missing, I'm not that thick.

.

"What's wrong?" Harry asks gently. I suck in a breath to answer and it catches in my throat, making me double over in a coughing

fit. For a moment I think I can feel my lung at the base of my throat, spongy and wet. Again, Harry's hand is on me, this time on my lower back,

rubbing softly. I stand up and turn around to face Harry. There's a soft slapping sound as his hand hits his thigh.

.

"Nothing is wrong, I'm fine," I rasp, crossing my arms for effect. I do have a rep to keep. A month ago I would have said that a

Malfoy is not weak. Now…now I don't know what I would say. Wait. Yes I do. I don't need his help. I survived Tom Riddle living in my house for

two years, this is nothing in comparison.

.

"Don't lie to me," Harry whispers. I see the flicker in his eyes right before he does it. He cups my face in his hands and just touches

his lips with mine. My eyes slide closed to keep me from crying, my resolve broken. Pride crumbling. So, it's been made obvious that he cares

for me. Probably not as I do for him, but he does care. Oh I've wanted this for so long. Maybe Harry sensed that I wasn't going to make the

first move and gathered up his Gryffindor courage to make it for me, I don't know. But this moment, right now, is perfection. I lean forward and

press my lips firmly against his, taking advantage of the moment while it's here. His hands are winding through my hair when I realize that this

isn't like Harry, to be so….bold. I rest my hands on his chest and step back away from him.

.

"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice soft and breathy. I don't understand why he must have this kind of effect on me. It keeps me

from thinking properly, like now for instance.

.

"I…don't know," He admits. I watch as his face turns a bright pink, much softer than the color of Weaselbee's ears when he's

embarrassed. My eyes drop to stare at his trainers to keep from looking him in the eye. Why is he doing this? Maybe…he does care? Maybe

he's willing to risk something? Immediately I trample that miniscule ray of hope. Hope can be dangerous, I've learned. It goes against all of my

instincts to hope for something. My vision starts going black at the edges, like I'm falling down a well. I breathe deeply, trying to counteract it.

It doesn't work and I stumble into Harry, shivering at the warmth of him seeping through his jumper. He grunts at the sudden deadweight I

provide, but holds me up nonetheless. This is bad. His arms wrap around my cold frame. This shouldn't be happening, he wants nothing to do

with me, I was just a shag. He rubs my back roughly, attempting to warm me. I close my eyes and weakly push him away, can't have another

night reminiscent of last month.

.

"Draco, let me help," Harry murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. That's it. My resolve is gone. A cough racks through me

before I completely fall unconscious.

* * *

It feels as if I'm being strangled, a soft fabric twisting itself around my neck. I thrash around to throw off my noose. Something cold

and clammy is pressed to my forehead, little cold fingers sliding past my temple. I panic, my breathing quickly turning shallow and frantic.

There's only one creature on this world with skin that cold, and he's dead. He's dead! I watched him die! I bolt straight up, fleeing being the

first thing on my mind.

.

Hands grip my upper arms and I fling my legs over the bed. A woozy feeling immediately takes over but I have to get out. Voldemort

can't hurt me anymore. A thought flies by, my mother. No, he can't get to her. I have to go and protect her!

.

"Draco," A voice shouts my name. It's eerily similar, but I can't place it. A hand roughly twines itself in my hair and the blunt nails

digging into my scalp, pain dragging me to reality. I fight to catch my breath and the nausea doesn't disappear. I'm shaken violently against

my will and I immediately turn over and retch, stomach acid burning my mouth.

.

"DRACO!" The voice shouts again and I drag my eyes open. My world is dominated by a pair of bright green eyes. "It's not real

Draco, just a nightmare," He murmurs. Harry is centimeters from me, his pupils dark and dilated, leaving a thin ring of green. His breathing is

ragged and it brushes across my lips. Fingers, they must belong to him, rub little circles on the back of my skull. A splayed hand spreads over

my chest and gently pushes me back onto the bed. I comply, not breaking eye contact with Harry. Voldemort is dead, Harry is real. I don't

know why he's here and I don't know where I am, but he's here. Gently, Harry reaches up and presses his sleeve to my mouth and jaw.

.

"Tergeo," Harry says, using his wand to clean up my mess. I break eye contact for just a moment to observe my surroundings.

There's a flimsy curtain separating Harry and I from the rest of the world and I believe that's Madam Pomfrey's wheedling voice in the

background. The hospital wing? I groan and roll onto my side as my stomach tumbles around roughly. Harry must've brought me here when I

collapsed. Wait…Harry is here. This cannot be good. I close my eyes and try to swallow, but my throat is too dry.

.

"Harry, what're you doing here?" I ask weakly, the simple question making me breathless. There's a strange sensation on my jaw, I

open my eyes to Harry brushing the backs of his fingers against my skin. It feels nice and I'm tempted to just lean into it, but there are

questions that I must have the answer to.

.

"You were…are…ill," He mumbles, his face flushing a quiet pink. Oh, I'd give anything just to touch him right now. But nothing makes

sense. I take a deep breath and try again.

.

"And you thought you'd play hero once again? Keep poor Death Eater Malfoy from collapsing eh?" I rasp, gasping for air between

every other word. I slide my arms behind me and shakily lift myself up. Wow, I am really sick. I've never been this sick in my entire life. I ignore

the growing light-headedness and focus on putting together a mask of haughtiness and cold indifference. But I know it doesn't work. There

have been cracks in it for almost a year now. Before they were small, easily missed, non-dangerous. Now, they are full blown holes caused by

a certain Boy-who-lived. I hope he's happy. Harry, with his messy hair and broken glasses, has managed to do what the most powerful Dark

Lord of our time could not. Harry, has broken me.

.

"No, I thought I would help someone I care about," Harry answers gruffly, his voice tight and restrained. I hate the hurt that bleeds

in his voice. I can't stand it, but this can't happen between us. Weaselbee would kill me for seemingly putting Harry under the Imperious Curse

while injuring Harry in an attempt to pull him out of it. I see the bookworm being a little more accepting, but only slightly. I close my eyes and

fall back against the pillows, or, rocks disguised as pillows. Doesn't this damn Hospital Wing have comfier pillows than this?

.

Again there's a cold, clammy _thing _being pressed to my forehead. My eyes fly open to see a stiff-backed Harry holding a wet cloth

against me. I sigh loudly, why hasn't he gone? Harry should have flipped me off, yelled some crude insult and stalked off to vent to the

Weasel. It makes no sense. I chalk it up to my ill brain being unable to think properly.

.

"The morning after…erm…_that_….I woke up. Before you did. I didn't remember at first… what had happened, but it came back to me. I

figured- I wasn't _unhappy_. For the first time in two years, I was content. Even if I was hungover off my arse," Harry spoke quickly and quietly,

gently pressing the rag against my neck. Why didn't he say anything that morning? Because….I wouldn't let him. I sigh, coming to the answer.

I yelled at him and then ran. I am such a bloody git. He offered me happiness that morning. Harry offered it again when I first fell ill in the

hallway. I can't seem to accept my own happiness. After the war, I admit, it was hard for me to see the good in anything, everything was a

dark hole. But it got better….slowly. Now here Harry is, offering it up on a damn silver platter, and I can't find it anywhere in me to accept it. I

laugh harshly at my own thoughts. I am very, very troubled.

.

There's a noise above me, reminiscent of a strangled whimper. My eyes shoot to Harry, who's own eyes are glossy with unshed

tears. Harry presses his thumbs into his eyes roughly, using the pretense of itchy eyes to wipe away his tears. The rag halts its gentle

pressure and I immediately miss it.

.

"Merlin's arse Malfoy…" Harry whispers, anger and hurt cracking his voice. He drops the rag and turns around, slinging the curtain to

the side violently. Harry stalks off out of the Hospital Wing, throwing the doors open with a bang. Oh dammit. God fucking dammit.

**AN: Thanks for reading! Oh and as always, I own absolutely bumpkiss of this. Just the plot**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Thank you for those who are reading...reviewing...etc.**

I lay my arm over my eyes and groan, half from irritation and frustration at Harry and half from just the general ill feeling. I laughed. Not at

him, but he doesn't know that! I mocked him, or at least that's what it would have sounded like. I have to get out of here and fix it. I sit up to

the best of my ability, trying to repress the dizzy feeling in my head. It's like a thick fog settling into my head, nuzzling into all the nooks and

crannies and chasing out all logic. I set my elbows on my knees and just hold my pounding head, trying to regain some sense. If sitting up is

this bad then I hate to see what walking is going to be like.

.

"Mister Malfoy, lay down!" Madam Pomfrey all but shouts. I ignore her and look up with a face of pleading, it's all for pretense. Really,

I just want her to shut up and give me something to stop this bloody awful illness. She has a vial of something in one hand, and a spoon in

the other. If she thinks I'm going to let her spoon me medicine…

.

"It seems you have come down with the flu," Cue the raised eyebrow in careful amusement, similar to how one would laugh at a

caged animal, "Just a bit of PepperUp," She says quickly, her high-pitched voice just as flighty as the tiny hands flying about her head. I groan.

The flu? Honestly? Blaise is NEVER going to hear about this. I'll tell him that it was some rare form of Spattergroit or Scrofungulus or something

of the like. He'd never let me live it down if he heard I fainted because of _the flu. _Madam Pomfrey pours the pinkish potion into the spoon and

hands it to me. I stare at it, at the little unsuspecting pool, before just dipping the tip of my tongue into it. Almost immediately I can feel the

wisps of smoke curling out of my ears. Madam Pomfrey stares at me with a strange look on her face. It's no secret that I was held prisoner in

my own home and it's no secret that I was starved and tortured for two years trying to do what everyone expected of me. What right does

this woman, and everyone else for that matter, have to treat me like utter shit and then decide to pity me? Malfoys may have fallen a long

way, but we are not pitied. I narrow my eyes at her and swallow the potion, handing her the silver spoon with a scowl.

.

I sigh in sweet relief, the aches disappear and I don't feel sick to my stomach. I stand up and push past Madam Pomfrey. Before she

can snap at me, the painful moaning of a boy draws her away. I grab my wand and stalk across the Hospital Wing, throwing open the double

doors, allowing them to bang against the hard stone. I shake my head. Dramatic exits, always the best thing to do in a situation. For the first

time in weeks, my stomach actually rumbles. I smile. Strangely, it's a comfortable sound, like things are heading back to normal.

.

I lift my arm and shake back the sleeve of my robe to check the wristwatch father handed down to me. It's sleek and silver, with the Malfoy

family crest engraved on the back. It's hundreds of years old and has been passed down for generations. Not surprisingly, it's the only family

heirloom I'm _not _ashamed of. Actually, I'm sort of proud of it. There's a spring of warmth that floods that floods through me when I see it.

There's no blood money or blackmailing involved at all. That's a rare thing for the Malfoy family.

.

Oh sod it, I've slept through dinner. In fact, it's almost ten. I grimace, to the kitchens it is I guess. I drop my arm and hike my robes around my

shoulders. Damn this drafty old castle. I tuck my wand away; the torches along the corridors provide enough light, and turn towards one of

the moving staircases. The kitchen is down in the basement, a long walk from the Hospital Wing.

.

Maybe Harry does honestly care for me? There's a little spark of hope ignited somewhere within my chest. I stumble down the steps, hopping

over the invisible one. It's weird, ignoring the urge to trample the little flame. The war is over and sometimes I still have to remind myself that

it's okay to _think. _To not have to worry incessantly over carefully hiding my thoughts. If I still have to remind myself to think, then hoping is

almost nonexistent. But, am I able to allow myself to try?

.

Merlin! I could curse myself for being such a Hufflepuff! I scowl at the marble floor moving under my feet. I want Harry. That much is bloody

obvious. And Harry, with his currently questionable sanity, apparently wants me as well. So, what's stopping me from going after him? My

scowl deepens. I'm stopping myself. The only thing standing in the way is me and my stupid sense of martyrism. In an attempt to make up for

my role in the war, for the horrid _thing _on my arm, I was refusing myself my own desires. Damn. I'm such a prat. I breathe and turn a corner.

Remember Malfoy, you are human. You're allowed to want. You're allowed to rant and not be punished. You're allowed to eat. I recite this over

and over in my head as I walk, willing it to become true. After a while a slight weight seems to have relieved itself of the perch on my

shoulders. It's a weight I didn't know was there, never acknowledged, just accepted, yet I'm all the more happy it's gone.

.

I come up with a plan as I amble down the next staircase and into the sub-floors. First, I find the kitchens and eat my fill. Next, I find Harry and

apologize. I can't beg, it's not in my nature, nor am I able to grovel, but despite what many people think, I can apologize. Usually it's in a

stubborn and fleeting way, but I do apologize. My only sincere apologies have been to-

.

I bump into someone and am sent flying towards the floor. Who the devil is out this late and why weren't they watching where they were

going?! Wait…I wasn't watching my way either. No matter. Angrily I jump to my feet and press my wand to this unlucky person's throat out of

instinct. After two years of it, some things just become natural.

.

"Draco, put your wand away, it's just me," Blaise chokes out hoarsely. Embarrassed, I immediately stow away my wand and punch Blaise in

the arm. He knows better than to surprise me like that.

.

"Where're you going?" I ask him.

.

"Sneaking away to my girlfriend's room. You?" Blaise replies sarcastically, smirking. I roll my eyes at his humorous attempt to draw something

out of me.

.

"Oh very droll Zabini," I sneer, fighting a smile. I can't help it though and in the end the corners of my mouth quirk upwards just the slightest

bit.

.

"Come on then, let's finish this in the common room," He claps a hand on my shoulder and shoves me towards the common room. I groan and

toss a longing look towards the kitchen. The git just laughs and pushes me harder. A corridor later I'm in an overstuffed armchair and Blaise is

languidly perched with a pillow in front of the fireplace. I hope the fire burns his shirttails.

.

"Wispy!" Blaise calls into the air. He looks like an idiot and I'm questioning his sanity when there's a loud crack beside me. I yell and fall onto

the other side of the couch. House elf. Of course. This particular house elf is a female with large droopy ears and a dazed smile on her face.

Her tea towel is a light blue and she keeps wringing her bat-like ears with her thin hands, pulling on the tips of them. Is she mental? Can

house elves _be _mental?

.

"Yes Master Zabini? How may Wispy help?" Her voice is soft and airy, as though it could be carried away on any feeble breeze.

.

"Wispy, could you bring a tray of scones with jam and cream?" Blaise asks politely. Wispy nods, the smallest motion of her bauble-like head

and Disapparates. Gracefully, I gather my wits. Moments later there's another crack in the air and Wispy appears with a large tray filled with

flaky treats. My mouth waters and I reach for one before I can even think about it. I moan and close my eyes at the sheer magnificence a

simple scone can bring. This is heavenly, even though there isn't as much cream as I'd like. But, then again, there's never as much cream as I

like. I finish it off and lick the jam off my fingers.

_._

_Crack._

.

I open an eye and reach for another scone, leaning back against the pillows. Now to think about my plan. Should I eat these and

then go visit Harry? Or do I wait to morning? Oh fuck it, a surprise will do him some good. Maybe I'll just take a couple with me…

.

"Draco," Blaise raises his voice, slapping me across the head. My hand flies to the injury and I throw him a withering glare, mouth

too full of scones and jam to speak without looking like Weaselbee. "You're scheming," He points out the obvious. Leaning back

against the mantle and clutching a frivolously embellished pillow to his chest he looks over at me.

.

"And you've got a house elf," I swallow. Tit for tat. Blaise waves his hand dismissively.

.

"Belongs to Hogwarts, just came from my family, still answers to me. You're scheming," He explains choppily. Again with the obvious.

I stall and slip off my trainers and socks.

.

"I may or may have not yelled at Potter in the Hospital Wing," I grind through my teeth. I don't keep most things from Blaise, but

that doesn't make it any easier to tell him. Blaise shuts his eyes for a moment. This isn't a moment of anger, like it would be in Pansy, or of

terrible confusion, like with Goyle, or a moment of peace, like I've watched Harry do so many times. No, when Blaise shuts his eyes he's

thinking, not exactly processing, just going over and over it in his mind, like an artist examining their work for things they can change with the

stroke of a brush.

.

"You yell at everybody, why is this so different?" He asks simply. I turn sharply to look at him, fuming. Is he daft?! My immediate rage

simmers at the calculating look in Blaise's brown eyes. He raises an infuriating eyebrow and I mesh my lips together in a scowl. Blasted git, this

is a game where he's adept and I'm left with a tattered rule book. Blaise doesn't need an answer to this, why should I provide him with one if

it's pointless?

.

"Knew it. Owe myself a sack of galleons," Blaise says triumphantly. I stare at him. "I made a bet with myself. You know, because I

couldn't make a bet with anyone else, and I won!"

.

My eyes must be bulging out of my skull right now with the intensity I'm staring at him. Blaise just grins and I fight the urge to chuck a pillow

at his head.

.

"You love the boy who wouldn't die," Blaise states with a smirk, quirking the corners of his lips. I scowl, but it's half-hearted. His

smirk merely widens into a grin.

.

"I mocked Har-Potter for playing the hero and he thinks I laughed at him," I tell him, running a hand through my hair, probably

making me look like a crackpot with the way it's sticking up. Talking with Blaise like this is sometimes reminds me of Wizard's Chess, a game

I'm not quite fond of. I don't know what he's doing until flicks his rook across the board, a look of complete ease on his face, and my king is

gone. He's won and I'm left standing unsure of what just happened. I sigh. My king was just flipped.

.

"Wispy!" Blaise calls once more. I slouch further into the overwhelming presence of the armchair. I need his unwelcome advice and

instead he calls his house elf?! I glare at Blaise, who steeples his long fingers in an odd Dumbledore-esque way. His eyes glint in a calculating

way and he just smirks. I scowl and cross my arms, reminiscent of an exasperated child. What could he possibly be plotting?!

.

_Crack. _

Wispy appears, twisting her hands into her powder blue tea towel.

.

"Yes, Master Zabini? What shall Wispy do for Master Zabini?" Wispy bows low, her red nose almost touching the cold stone of the

floor.

.

"Wispy, what is the current Gryffindor password?" Blaise asks calmly. I gape at him for just a moment before collecting myself.

Malfoy's don't gape or gawk, especially not at such trivial things. I close my eyes and begin recounting The Draught Of Living Death. After I'm

supposed to chop the Valerian Root my mind has focused and I carefully place a mask of indifference. I've had two years practice with this one,

when your face can give away your thoughts; every emotion becomes dangerous in the House of The Dark Lord.

.

"I didn't know house-elves could get the passwords," I spoke, reaching for a tone of mere interest. I failed. Blaise looks at me

pointedly, his brown eyes revealing what his mouth wouldn't.

.

"After the war hardly anything is secret anymore—if you know how to get it," He said simply, turning his head to examine the

mantle. So, Blaise has done this before, that's obvious. Girlfriend? Maybe. I'll look into that after all of this is over and Harry either hates me or

loves me. I blanch at the thought of the former.

.

_Crack._

**AN: Hope you enjoyed!**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: This chapter is lemon-like near the end. I'm not quite sure you could qualify it as a lemon...but I'm pretty sure it comes close. Read at your own risk. If you recognize it, I don't own it. Please enjoy!**

"Wispy followed the Potter boy Master Zabini," Wispy spoke airily, with an almost haughty tone. She's quite proud of herself. Harry? What was

Harry doing before he entered the commons? Probably the same thing I was about to go do before Blaise attacked me. A blush creeps its way

up my neck, but it's not out of embarrassment this time. I glare at Blaise, who no doubt has come to the same conclusion. "Master Zabini, the

password is _Banana Fritters_," Wispy spoke conspiratorially and I can't help but laugh at her tone. Her head turns sharply to glare at me and,

momentarily, I'm stunned. Before The War, no house elf would _dare _look at someone like that, not even a free elf. Proof that things have

changed. For the better or worse, I'm not quite sure yet.

.

I stand up and slip my wand out my back pocket, twirling it around myself like one would wrap a blanket. There! Disillusionment

Charm cast, now I can go without worrying about being seen. Unless of course Uncle decides to go for a midnight stroll through the castle. I

run a hand through my hair, Uncle is the only one I know that a Disillusionment Charm is pointless against, he sees straight through them. I

shake my head, tried that one in third year. Got detention for a month.

.

Blaise clears his throat and stands up, brushing crumbs off his robe. His brown eyes meet mine eerily, as he can't possibly see me,

and he grins.

.

"Remember, I want my shirt back," He laughs and walks off towards our dorm, purposefully jamming his shoulder against me on his

way out. I scowl at the stone floor. Really, I must remember to ask him fully about his skills later on, before he turns an unknown one against

me. Invisibly I stalk off, my robes billowing around me and my bare feet bitterly cold.

* * *

The Fat Lady is snoring, quite loudly might I add, with several empty bottles of wine around her. She can't see me, so if she wakes

up and is sober enough she may or may not swing open. For the first, and probably last, time in my life I pray that she stays drunk.

.

"Banana Fritters," I whisper, feeling oddly guilty. Like when mother caught me with my hand in the cookie jar. The Fat Lady murmurs

in her sleep, it may have been a greeting I can't be sure, and her portrait swings open, revealing a hole in the wall. It's circular and I have to

duck my head to go through it, but I step through. Immediately a sense of warmth engulfs me, comfortable to the point of near suffocation and

the thick carpet is a welcome change from the cold stone on my bare feet. I take a moment to look around, it's so different from the coolly aloof

Slytherin common room. Everything is warm and overstuffed, built for comfort not class. Strewn around the room are several armchairs, their

stuffing practically bursting out, like an overfilled pastry. There are old, worn tables with chess boards placed every couple of feet. Facing the

fire is the most overstuffed armchair I have ever seen, with patches where the only thing keeping the stuffing in are mere strings strained

across.

.

Long legs are folded awkwardly beneath the chair and a tan hand dangles from the side, fingers lazily curled. The fire flickers and in

the light I can see the faint marks of Umbridge's punishment carved into his skin. It makes my breath catch and I instinctively shake my robe

over my left arm. In a way, we match. Light snores travel through the air, but they're not like Goyle's earthquaking snores, more like he's

positioned clumsily and has to fight for air. I pull my wand from my back pocket and twirl it once more around myself and watch as my ghostly

hand slowly comes back into view. Taking long strides, I make my way over to Harry, stepping in front of him. His glasses are askew on his

face, pressed against the chintz fabric of the chair. I crouch in front of him, close enough to feel the heat radiate from him. Tear tracks mark his

face and I reach up, gently brushing my fingertips over them. My heart lurches suddenly, I made him cry. I frown. I've already decided that I

don't like it when he cries, it's not Potter-like. He's more capable of screaming til he's red in the face rather than cry.

.

Harry sighs in his sleep and leans into my light touch. This time, instead of lurching, my heart just jumps into my throat. I slide off my

robe, listening to the hush as it hits the floor. This heat is stifling.

.

"Harry," I whisper, my hand sliding down to his shoulder and shaking him. He groans and shifts, dropping his other arm across the

chair, his glasses sliding completely from his face. I pick them up and carefully set them back on his face, brushing my thumb across his cheek.

He is adorable and amazing and I never want to let him go. Hell, I don't even have him yet and I don't want to let go. Closing my eyes I press

my lips to his forehead and card my fingers through his hair.

.

"Harry, love, wake up," I murmur against his warm skin. His arms snake around my waist and I know he's awake. When he clumsily

pulls me down against him, I know he's semi-conscious.

.

"Draco," He whispers, voice soft and slow with sleep. I start talking before he realizes that he should be very, very angry with me. I

press my lips against his neck and begin whispering, simultaneously avoiding his gaze while staying close to him, a win-win if I do say so for

myself.

.

"Harry I should not have mocked you, that was wrong of me. I wasn't laughing at you, I swear, I just…I was laughing at…well…that's

a story for another time," I finish quietly, placing a soft kiss on the junction of his shoulder and neck. It wasn't _quite _an apology, but I've only

ever apologized, and meant it, to my mother.

.

I was a little boy, not even a meter tall, and attempted to boss around one of father's associates, like I had seen him do countless times

before. Merlin, all I remember of that day were her eyes, how cold and angry they had been. But…it wasn't anger at me. Looking back I realize

it was anger at the world, at the situation in which we were placed, the cards we had been dealt and swapped with ones hidden up our

sleeves. She was trying to keep me from becoming my father. Mother just held me close and made me promise that I would never do anything

like that again. Her words were golden and precious to me, of course I apologized, if only just to bring back her pretty words.

.

"How'd you get in here?" Harry asks suddenly, sliding one hand beneath my robe and up my shirt, splaying it against my lower back. His

broad, rough touch, so different than Pansy's daintiness, makes me sigh. I lean up and nip his ear, being rewarded with a low groan and

Harry's fingers digging lightly into my back. I move carefully, pressing one knee between his thighs and the other by his waist.

.

"House elf found the password," I mumble, kissing my way down his jaw. He tastes salty from his tears and again, my heart lurches. Harry just

sighs, too distracted to form an articulate thought. I grin against the corner of his mouth.

.

"Promise me you'll tell me that story of yours later," Harry groans, pulling me against him. I swallow the groan in my throat and press my lips

to his in a bruising kiss. It's tender and fiery and I want more. We're not drunk this time and I can fully appreciate how Harry arches when I

lightly suck on his bottom lip, or his whimpers when I swipe my tongue over a gentle bite. I moan and slide my hands up his shirt, pulling it

over his head and tossing it to the floor, mindful of the fire. He probably wouldn't be too happy with me if it landed in the flames. I smile and

run my fingers through his hair.

.

"I promise—I promise—I promise," I murmur between kisses. It's true too, I'd promise him anything in the world right now. Actually, in the past

year I'd have promised him anything. I can't screw this up, not now. I love him so much, so delicately. Any word of doubt or regret would

probably damage me beyond repair, not even the war could do that. The Dark Lord tried everything to break me, yet messy hair and broken

glasses have rendered me vulnerable and volatile.

.

"Stop thinking," Harry breathes against my ear, nipping lightly, and his fingers nimbly slip into the waistband of my pants. I gasp and Harry

takes advantage of the situation, sliding in a gently probing tongue. Rational thinking shot to bits, I twist my hands in his hair, pulling him

closer and groan when Harry's hand slides into my pants. Ghosting his fingers over me I shudder and swallow a moan; it wouldn't do to wake

someone up and have them walk in on this. I pull my fingers from his hair and begin touching wherever I can. Sweaty skin, indentions between

his ribs, the dip of his waist, I brush my hands over all of him.

.

I curse softly when Harry wraps his fingers around me and pulls, as if I weren't hard enough already.

.

"W-we should probably move someplace we…er.._won't _be roasted…" Harry mutters between gasps of air. Reluctantly, and with great effort, I

remove my mouth from his and look at him, my hips gently rolling into his hand. For the first time my eyes meet Harry's, well sort of as mine are

nearly rolling back into my skull. We really should move though, my back is burning from the heat of the fire. I'm quite impressed that my shirt,

now unbuttoned (when that happened, I shall never remember), hasn't caught aflame yet. The orange light throws shadows and makes them

dance over Harry's body. Never have I appreciated all the hard work Quidditch requires in my life, as the firelight flickers every angle of Harry's

body is imperfect perfection. His eyes, the usual emerald green are darkened considerably and his lips are swollen and bruised. My own sore

lips twitch into a smirk. That's _my _doing. _I _made Harry look like this, _I'm _the one who makes him gasp in need like this. The thought makes all

the blood rush to my lower body, leaving absolutely none for higher thinking.

.

The column of his throat looks deliciously inviting and I growl, lunging forward and attacking it with my lips. I worry his pulse point with my

teeth until the blood vessels burst and a bruise blossoms. Harry groans, an enticing sound caught in his throat, and hips buck against my

thigh, pressed in between his legs. His thumb brushes over my tip and I'm forced to close my eyes at the intensity of the feeling it causes.

.

"You're making moving very…_difficult,_" Harry moans.

.

"Then take your hand out of my pants," I mumble against his neck. As long as his hand remains where it is my mind is unable to focus on

anything other than _must kiss Harry, must touch Harry, must make Harry make that noise again. _He chuckles, a deep rumble that makes little

bubbles of happiness rise in my chest, like champagne. A mournful little whine escapes me as Harry does indeed re-claim his hand. Suddenly,

Harry stiffens. Not with tension or anything of the sort, but just kind of stops. I open my eyes and look up at him, swallowing another pitiful

whimper. There's this dazed look on his face, his mouth open in a sloppy grin. I wait for a moment. And another moment. Many moments pass

before I kiss him impatiently.

.

"What?" I ask petulantly, pulling my lips from his. There's that damn grin again!

.

"Did you really make that noise?" Harry finally asks, his voice hoarse. Really? Is that what all this is about? I scowl as my neck gets

hotter. Whether it's the fire or a blush, I can't tell. Harry laughs and trails his hand up my neck, following the heat. He should feel quite special,

I must appear dignified and proud in front of the rest of the Wizarding population, but for the past year I've managed to embarrass myself

greatly in front of Harry. His hand snakes around my neck and pulls me into a soft kiss.

.

"You're very endearing when you're not being a prat," Harry murmurs gently. Ouch. That one was deserved.

.

"Love, I'm being roasted," I whisper against his forehead. Harry laughs again and the happy bubbles rise into my chest. I slide off of

his lap and pull my wand from my sleeve. Harry catches the crook of my elbow and I look at him strangely. He knows better than I do that I

can't simply waltz into his dorm. If I'm not immediately killed in the first three seconds it takes for the dunderheads to come to their senses it's

a miracle. Harry stands up, his hand dropping from my elbow to my waist, igniting the lust that had faded. I swallow harshly and see my own

desire reflected in his eyes. It's the most arousing sight I have ever seen.

.

"This is much simpler," Harry whispers gruffly. From behind him he pulls his shimmering invisibility cloak, shuddering in and out of

existence as if it doesn't know what to do. All I can do is stare in awe as he tosses it over me. He tugs gently here and there before nodding in

approval, I don't miss the way he swallows roughly.

.

"How do I look?" I laugh quietly, using every ounce of my being to suppress the growing wave of want.

.

"I can see your feet," He smiles. I hunch over. Abruptly Harry turns around and begins walking, not bothering to pick up his shirt or

my robe. Perhaps he wants people to know? Not about _us,_ but maybe that he's taken? Or not taken, that's too strong a word, but he's with

someone. The thought makes my lips quirk upwards, half smirk half smile. His footsteps have stopped. I look up to see him staring at me,

waiting. I hurry towards Harry's wavery form, blurry through the cloak, and brush against him. Green eyes darken and he stiffens, just the

slightest as he walks towards his dorm.

.

The dorm is just like the common room, built for comfort instead of class. Only one four poster bed is empty, the rest filled with

sleeping war-heroes. Instinctively I sneak closer to Harry, my chest pressed nearly to his back, separated only by the cloak. I'm not nervous

per se, but being the only former Death Eater in a room full of traumatized warriors isn't the best post-war environment to be in. But then

again, that's how this all started, I went to a party despite the odds of being killed instantly. I smile at the irony.

.

"Hey! Everybody up!" Harry shouts, walking around and shoving people out their bed.

.

"Oi!" Weaselbee yells indignantly as he thuds to the ground.

.

"What the hell Harry!" There goes Finnigan.

.

_Oomph! _That was Longbottom.

.

"Merlin's Beard Harry!" Dean shouts on his way to the floor. Harry circles back and stands near the doorway. Silently, I take up the

spot behind him. Leaning forward just a bit I press my mouth against his shoulder to muffle my laughter. I don't know where he expects them

all to go. Wait, I take that back. Weaselbee will probably sneak off with Granger, Longbottom onto that Lovegood girl. I don't know where

Harry expects Finnigan and Dean to go.

.

"What the hell are you doing that requires you to have the entire room to yourself? And where's your shirt?!" Weasley asks angrily.

Harry doesn't say anything and I can't see his face, but whatever he does makes Weasley blanch to the tips of his flaming hair. He's on his

feet and out of the room in record time. The other dunderheads follow quickly behind.

.

I pull off Harry's cloak and toss it to the floor. The door shuts and the lock clicks. Harry presses himself behind me, gently nipping my

neck and sliding my shirt off. I groan and drop my head back onto his shoulder. He keeps one arm around my waist and plucks the button off

my trousers with his free hand, letting them fall. My silk boxers follow. The feeling of Harry's hand would have dropped me to my knees had he

not been holding me up.

.

Somewhere during our journey to the bed Harry lost his clothes.

.

I shook and moaned as Harry slipped his fingers in and out, creating a terrible bliss.

.

I've never cried out quite so loudly as when he finally slid into me, imperfect perfection.

**AN: Thanks for reading! And thank you so so much to those who are favoriting/following/reviewing this story!**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: I'M SO SORRY FOR BEING SO LATE! AND THAT THIS CHAPTER IS SO SHORT! See previously I had the entire story written and everything and then I realized I needed more chapters and I was like "CRAP". So now I'm having to write every new chapter. Anyway, please enjoy**

I crack open my eyes; almost scared of what I might find when the world appears. Cowardly, I slam them back shut and take in everything.

Maybe if I can keep from opening my eyes then I can hang onto this world for just a moment longer. Every part of my body is sore, a dull,

slightly pleasant, ache. Beneath me there's a warm…something. Wait. My something is breathing. Some_one. _The thought makes my heart jump

and I worm closer to this someone. Their arms tighten noticeably around me. I feel as if I'm going to suffocate, but I just bury my face further

into what must be their neck, sighing contentedly at the peace.

.

"Draco," This someone moans breathily. I love the way it sounds in their deep rumble. They give a lazy laugh and the arms, strong and rough,

clutch me tightly, like I'll disappear.

.

"Love, are you awake?" They say. I decide that this person can have the privilege of calling me that, I like the way they say it.

.

"Yes."

.

"Then why are your eyes shut?" This someone questions curiously.

.

"Because if I open them then I'll wake up in my room," I answer quietly. Obviously I like where I am otherwise I would wake up. This person

shifts until I feel hot breath against my cheek. Lips are pressed against mine, they are soft and warm and just the slightest bit chapped.

.

"Open your eyes," They don't ask, nor command. Not telling me what to do, but simply stating it, as if they know I'll do it anyway. Of course I

do, I'd do anything for this person.

.

"Hello Harry," I say softly to green eyes, unobstructed by glasses, and messy dark hair. He smiles sleepily and I kiss him again, unwilling to do

anything more.

* * *

The next morning brings daylight and…banging? I press myself closer to Harry and make a happy little noise against his skin. Yes, that is most

definitely banging.

.

"HARRY! WHAT-THE-_BLOODY-_FUCK?!" Weaselbee punctuates each shouted word with his fist to the door. There are other shouts, Longbottom

and Finnigan and such, but they are not nearly as loud and obnoxious.

.

"Go AWAY Ron!" Harry groans, ineffectively chucking a pillow at the door before turning over and pulling me into his side. I smile as I feel

Harry's lips brush the top of my head.

.

"Irritating git," He grumbles, pulling me closer, surrounding me with his almost suffocating warmth. The banging continues. The shouting grows

louder. A groan is drawn from my throat, pulled along as if by a string. The shouting suddenly grows quiet. Oh Merlin…

.

Harry sighs peacefully and presses one of his palms against the flat of my back. It dawns on me then. He doesn't realize what has just

happened. Harry doesn't know that I have just potentially revealed our secret and ruined this little, delicate, world we've created.

.

"Well….er….Harry…we'll see you at lunch then…" Weaselbee's muffled voice sifts through the door, awkward and blundering as if his blush has

clung to his words. I press a smile into Harry's neck, trying my hardest to keep my loving feelings down. Lunch? I question vaguely as Harry's

hands drift, calloused fingertips brushing over my hip. Have we slept through the morning? It's just a drifting question, one that doesn't

require an answer, just an abstract wondering of the mind. I press my lips to the warm skin of his neck, slowly progressing upwards, merely

tasting. I reach his ear and gently bite, relishing in that lazy groan of his. Eventually my lips reach his and this, I decide, is what I love. The

languid kisses and sleepy touches of the early morning coupled with this subdued lust, no less powerful just slow and patient.

.

Damn this man. I'd scowl at him for turning me into this fond, emotional creature if my lips weren't distracted with something else at this

moment. Harry's stomach rumbles and growls, as if protesting our sudden decision to forgo lunch. I nip his lip roughly before pulling myself

away. A blush has spread its way across Harry's cheeks, turning him red and rosy, his green eyes dart everywhere to avoid my gaze.

.

"Shall we go and eat then?" I ask, cheekiness dipping and hiding between the letters. Harry laughs and shoves me off of him, sliding out from

beneath the blankets. I can only scowl at him for a moment as he plucks his glasses from the table. Then it hits. He's _teasing_ me. The feeling is

so foreign that it robs me of any response. In fact, I can't figure out how to respond to that at all. Two years in a fear-ruled household has

stolen and suppressed every positive feeling, every scrap of hope, sucking it out like the Dementor's Kiss. Harry pauses mid-dress, wearing

only pants and halfway through pulling a shirt over his head.

.

The earlier light mood fades, being replaced with this heavy, clinging thing.

.

"Come here," Harry murmurs, pulling the rest of his shirt over his head, reaching out an arm. I'm naked. He'll _see. _I stay wrapped in the

blankets. Somewhere inside me I know I'm being ridiculous, that there's nothing I have that he hasn't seen before, but this moment, it's

different. It's as if I'm being stripped to the bone and examined, leaving nothing untouched. I don't feel scrutinized exactly…just more

exposed? I would say vulnerable, but Malfoys aren't vulnerable. We are dignified. We are proud. We are strong. But our dignity has been torn

to shreds, our pride trampled on by years of feet; our strength is merely a fisherman's tale now. Harry sighs and drops to sit beside me, pulling

me into a soft embrace.

.

"Sometimes, I forget," He murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. Cold tears slide down to my chin. I just nod, feeling to broken to do

anything else. At least my head works if my mind doesn't.

.

We dress silently and Harry presses a chaste kiss to my lips before pulling the Invisibility Cloak over my face.

.

With meaningless whispers, I count the steps from here to the Great Hall, always half a step behind Harry. I hardly pay attention, numbers

pausing for a moment before drifting off into the depths of my mind.

.

"1001, 1002, 1003…_fuck_," I whisper, walking directly into Harry's back. Scowling, I straighten my robes and quickly run a hand through my hair

before realizing how pointless it is. I'm invisible. Harry chuckles as I swear quietly.

.

Wait.

.

Pause.

.

Panic proceed to set in.

.

Where are we going to sit? I feel myself tense at the question, a glower pulling at my lips, a perpetual presence. The answer flits in front of me

and I could laugh. I'm Draco Malfoy, I'll sit wherever I bloody well please. Suddenly the cloak is pulled from over me and again only green eyes

make up my world for a moment. Harry stuffs it somewhere beneath his robes and grins, lopsided and lazy. Burning heat spreads up the back

of my neck at his smile and I shove Harry into the Great Hall before he can say anything. Merlin, I love him.

.

But it's a fragile love, I think as Harry drags me towards his table. I start losing the feeling in my fingertips as Harry clings to my wrist. This is

too new, too unstable. At any moment he could be taken from me, I could lose him. My throat almost closes up at the thought. Quickly I shake

my head roughly, as if I can physically brush them away. We're very close to the Golden table now. In fact, if I stare hard enough I might be

able to make out the food in Weaselbee's mouth, seeing as he's attempting to beat the record for most words spoken through Yorkshire

pudding.

.

The Granger girl notices first and she picks up her jaw before pixies begin gathering, but her eyes remain widened, brown irises an

island in a sea of white. Immediately her eyebrows knit together, but it's the look that she has frozen onto her face in class. It's the one she

has on when attempting to brew a particularly tricky potion or decipher an exceptionally difficult rune. The "know-it-all" face as Goyle calls it.

There's no danger to it, nothing threatening. Imperceptibly, I relax.

.

Weaselbee turns around to see what Granger is staring at. Harry entwines his fingers with mine and pulls me just a bit closer,

marginally placing himself in front of me. He's…protecting me. I squeeze his fingers. No one, other than my mother, has protected me. And

even she could do very little. My heart lurches, but I shift my features into a mask of indifference. This is where I hide in the daylight.

.

"Harry, what're you doing with a Death Eater?" Ron asks coldly. I smirk in amusement, he actually swallowed before speaking. If

Granger doesn't begin hating me any further then I shall have to congratulate her on that.

.

"I believe we were going to eat. As you know, Harry was a little occupied during breakfast," I can't help it. It just slips out. No. I fight

to keep my rolling emotions from showing. Damn Harry. I've never had this much difficultly attempting to NOT embarrass myself. But, Merlin, his

reaction is worth it. Weaselbee turns a sickly green, somehow managing to go pale at the same time. I glance at Harry. There's anger in his

eyes, turning them from an entrancing green to fearful rage. For just half a moment, I feel sorry for the Weasel. But it doesn't last long.

.

"What did you do to him, ferret?" Ron asks, his indignation thinly disguised. Abruptly Harry's fingers are no longer beside mine and

pain courses through my nose as Ron's fist connects. I fall to the floor, succumbing to the blackness I have become so used to.

**AN: Thank you for reading!**


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG! But like I said, I'm having to actually write these chapters whereas before I had the story already written so I was just updating. Now I'm writing. But, anyway, I AM SO SORRY AND WILL TRY TO UPDATE MORE QUICKLY IN THE FUTURE. As always, thank you so very much to those who are reviewing/favoriting/following.**

**.**

"Spiculum Morsus!" Harry shouts, his voice bleeding in through the darkness. Little rivulets of pain hurl through my nose and there's a peculiar

metallic taste lingering on my tongue. The zest of blood is all too familiar. I groan and blink repeatedly, trying to make sense of the blurry

bright world in front of me. Harry is kneeling over me, his mouth is moving but the words are lost. Gently, the tip of a wand is placed to my

nose and I watch as Harry's blurry lips curve around the letters, forming a spell I can't bother to understand.

.

My nose briefly flashes hot and then burns very cold. Moments later my hearing returns with soft words that spill through the air like a tipped

glass. Harry grasps my hand and hauls me to my feet, crushing me in an embrace.

.

In front of the Great Hall.

.

And I'm the dramatic one.

.

"Harry, love," I whisper through gritted teeth. This is not a good place for the Boy-Who-Defeated-The-Dark-Lord to embrace the One-With-The-

Dark-Mark. Most of my irritation is because of Weaselbee, but that little tiny percentage left goes to everyone else in the Great Hall. Maybe if

they stare long enough then we'll burst into flames. Or at least I will.

.

"Mr. Potter release Mr. Malfoy and both of you follow me," The sharp voice of Minerva McGonagall leaks from behind me and Harry stiffens just

the slightest bit. His warm breath ghosts across my ear, a sigh. One that promises to discuss this later, along with many other things. I smirk

into Harry's shoulder for a moment before taking a step back.

.

The wall across from me explodes with purple light as the first curse of many soars past my head.

.

"What happened?" McGonagall asks sternly, folding her hands atop the headmaster's desk. My eyes flit from my knees over to Harry, who

glances up at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore (who also looks unusually severe), and then his green eyes return to staring at some fixed

point on the floor, full of anger. I've seen that look often enough, usually through stolen glances in the beginning of the year. There was a

limit, once long ago, but he has passed it. His eyes betray what his mouth cannot, that he is so full of rage that it has actually rendered him

speechless.

.

"Weaselbee couldn't stand that his best friend hasn't seen what was in front of his face," I scowl sarcastically at the new Headmistress.

Something inside me seems to have ignited, blazes of vehemence rising violently. I bite my tongue and twist my fingers into the heavy fabric of

my robes. Carefully I arrange my face into a mask of what I know must look like indifference stained with disdain.

.

McGonagall frowns, lips quirking down in a severe glower. Uncle's looks of disapproval is much better. Hers alight first years with fear. His

reduce them to ashes. She starts speaking, but I don't register any of the words. I'm torn between worrying over Harry and reciting Golpalotts

Third Law. Repetitively.

.

"Weaselbee loves him, whether for the fame or his hair I don't know," I mock. Harry's head whips up angrily, as of right now anything he does

is done in anger. He stares at me intently, with a burning rage that has my inner mind reeling. But outside I am calm. Harry doesn't need to

see my wrath that mirrors his own. In fact I raise an eyebrow. I, Draco Malfoy, have just made a joke and Harry Potter is too upset to realize

it.

.

There is one thing that almost breaks through my mask and overcomes my inner boiling hatred. I want to touch him. I want to take my thumb

and smooth it across his lips, tightened into a thin white line. Temptation has never been so strong. I bite my tongue and turn to face

McGonagall who is not laughing. She is severe, like always.

.

"I doubt either of you are aware of the gravity of the situation. Mr. Weasley has multiple broken bones, one of which is his skull, alongside

effects of Mr. Potter's curse," She speaks sharply, as if there is broken glass embedded within her words. I meet her stare with one of my own.

If she thinks that after what Weaselbee has done to Harry, that I'm honestly going to give in to anything she tries to say, then she's gone

bloody well mad.

.

"He could have died," Her voice drops. I glance at Harry. He's trembling and his eyes never move from his knees.

.

At our lack of reaction she scowls. Again, my eyes flit over to Harry. What if that rage is directed towards me? My eyes widen

marginally at the thought. Breathe in. Breathe out. I can't handle that frame of mind at the moment. All of me, already a melodramatic one, is

thrown into the extremes. Surly vehemence for Ron that could rival that of my feelings I harbored towards the Dark Lord, push my mind into a

place I had to claw my way out of.

.

"Detention for the both of you. A month with Mr. Filch," McGonagall's voice is a murmur in my head, quieted by the raging eddy of my

own thoughts. The punishment hardly registers in my mind, a mere flicker. My thoughts are on Harry, whose anger I can practically touch,

brushing my fingers against it, like a thick curtain that's soft, but never moves.

.

"Are you bloody mad?! After everything we have gone through, you honestly think detention will scare us?" Harry whispers. My eyes

widen, just a fraction. Oh Harry, love, we'll discuss this later. Don't argue with her. She's not worth it. I twist my fingers further into my robe to

keep them still. Careful to keep my indifferent mask plastered cautiously into place, I watch as Harry detonates.

.

"Mr. Potter! I am quite aware of the current situation," Her face tightens, flitting through emotions as if she doesn't know what to

say or how to feel, "Be that as it may, I am the headmistress of this school and your actions cannot go unpunished!"

.

"Unpunished?" Harry's voice drops, agony bleeding through his words, "What makes you think our lives are easy? Or that we don't

wake up screaming in the middle of the night?" He stares angrily at McGonagall, who has paled considerably, strange when paired with her

still stern eyes.

.

"Haven't we gone through enough _shit_ already? What will detention accomplish that a Second Wizarding War hasn't already?" His

voice rises dangerously. This is not what normal Harry would have said. Normal Harry would have nodded his head of black hair and laughed

with me later. Normal Harry has disappeared and dark Harry has slid in, a wet depressing creature that curls up in the blackest corner of his

mind. I've seen this Harry once, at the very beginning of the year when Uncle Snape remarked on the less than excellent state of his potion.

Harry responded cruelly and stalked out of the room, putting my dramatic exits to shame.

.

"You are not the only one who has lost someone you loved, you seem to have forgotten that Potter," She answers him in the cool

defeated tone of someone who has endured far more than anyone realizes. She loves all of her students, with the exception of a few and me,

and a great deal died when she couldn't stretch herself thin enough to protect them all. But that's not her fault. I think back to who else she

could mean. _Oh. _Him. They were together? Little shock waves tumble through my head, attempting to process this new information. I never

saw that coming. I watch her with a sad interest. Tears pool in her eyes. That's the only answer I need.

.

Bringing myself to my feet, I brush my fingers across the back of Harry's neck, careful to keep the robe covering my

arm's entirety. Stiffly, he stands, anger and rage fitting him like his cloak. My hand drops to his wrist, pulling him out of the office. The broken

cries of Minerva McGonagall reach our ears just as the door shuts.

.

Harry tears his hand from mine only to clutch my wrist tightly enough to make my fingers grown numb. He sprints down the Grand

Staircase, hauling me in tow. Each marble step barely touches my toes before my foot moves on to the one below it. It takes most of my

concentration to keep from tripping over my own feet.

.

Before I've even cleared the staircase Harry drags me roughly down the Third Floor corridor, eerily quiet without the bulging masses

of students to fill the air with gossip and hexes. My lungs are actually burning. In fact, I'm quite sure they'll explode if we don't stop soon. I

open my mouth to warn Harry of my impending death when a familiar hump is flung into my view.

.

The One-Eyed-Witch in all her stone glory.

.

Finally, Harry stops. I take heaving gulps of air as if they were my last, doubling over when my stomach lurches unpleasantly.

.

"Dissendium," Harry pants raggedly, the word hardly a gasp, his fingers barely curled around his wand. What the bloody hell is Harry

playing at?! Making me run like that! The One-Eyed-Witch slides open and Harry pulls my wrist, literally yanking me to my knees. It doesn't

take much for me to slide down the short tunnel into the depths of the castle. A grating sound floats through the air above us, the statue

grinding to a close, immersing us in darkness.

.

"What a little git!" Harry curses angrily. I can't see my own hand in front of my face. Rough hands press against my shoulders,

slinging me into the nearest wall.

.

"Oohmph!" I yell in surprise. Immediately Harry's lips crush my own and I can't stop myself from giving in under his attack. My mind

melts as the blood rushes downwards. I try to untangle my thoughts, yarn in a kitten's playpen. Harry is…angry…that much is quite clear. But

the hardness pressing against my leg tells a different story.

.

"Harry," I murmur beneath his lips, unable to do more under his onslaught. He just groans and twists his fingers with mine, pressing

my back further into the wall. A noise of appreciation finds its way from my throat at this. I attempt to gather a thought, having given up on

multiple thoughts. Harry is well and truly pissed off. And, unsure, as to whether the dormitories are honestly empty, he drags me into a secret

passage to…it slips from my mind, trailing off into nothingness as Harry bites my lip none too gently. Harry shifts a bit lower and begins

pressing kisses down to my neck, worrying a bruise there with his teeth. Practically writhing under him, I pull one of my hands free and splay it

on the hot skin under his shirt, clutching at him with desperate fingertips.

.

"Shouldn't have hit you," Harry whispers brokenly against my neck, "Stupid, selfish prat."

.

I don't have an answer that he would like. Instead, I free my other hand and use them to bring him back up to where I can kiss him.

For once in my life, I'm thankful for the darkness that hides my face. He can leave me, I think painfully as I pull Harry as close as possible. Or he

can hope Weaselbee will get over it. I laugh mentally, harshly.

.

Harry pulls away slowly, touching his lips to my nose. Our ragged breathing fills the empty silence surrounding us. I panic, eyes

widening despite knowing Harry is just as blind as I am in this damp darkness under the castle. Has he come to the same conclusion I have? Is

he going to leave? I feel the tears burning in the back of my eyes but pride keeps them from spilling over. I refuse to cry in front of him. I press

myself as far into the wall I can, attempting to put some distance between us, wanting nothing more than to slink out of his reach.

.

Harry, with his messy black hair and green eyes, tugs me into an embrace, crushing me to his chest. I breathe carefully, trying at the

same time to breathe in as much of Harry while I can and slowing my fluttering heart.

.

"It's going to be hard," Harry murmurs defiantly, a whisper carrying through the dark. My heart lurches to my throat, damn emotions.

He's not leaving. The Boy Who Lived, coming to the rescue again. I chuckle softly and bury my face into his neck. This might work.

.

As long as Weaselbee doesn't hit me again. I don't think McGonagall would appreciate any more death on the grounds at my

expense.

**AN: I hope you enjoyed! If you recognize it, I don't own it. I just own the plot. I have a feeling that Draco is recently becoming OOC and I am so terribly sorry...*crawls into box of shame***


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: THIS IS IT! THIS IS THE END! WE"VE REACHED THE LIGHT! I'd like to thank everybody who has reviewed, favorited, followed, and just read. It truly made my day to read a review or see that someone new has followed/favorited. I'm sorry that this is so short but that's what epilogues are, right? To just wrap things up? Oh well, please enjoy!**

_Epilogue_

Blaise did get his shirt back…eventually.

* * *

After one of our more emotional nights we discussed the War in the dark, where the harsh truth couldn't invade. He lay on top of me, twisting

his toes with mine.

.

"What happened?" Harry asked gently, curling the fingers of his right hand with my left. Tears streamed silently down my face, rivulets of cold

water falling into my ears. I couldn't speak clearly, most of my story came out a half strangled mess. Afterwards Harry was quiet. I was

worried. I had fought so hard to get him, I couldn't bear the thought of losing him.

.

"Idiot," Harry whispered, pressing little kisses everywhere he could reach. His thumb brushed away my tears and he kissed me softly. "I

wouldn't leave you, ever. You did what you could to survive. I'm _proud _of you love."

.

All I could do was cry. And he let me, holding me in his lap as I ruined another of his shirts. At one point, Harry brought my wrist to his lips and

tenderly kissed the tainted mark branded into my arm. I was healing.

* * *

Uncle, of course, knew almost immediately. It's as if the man suddenly gets a troublesome feeling in the pit of his stomach when something

unexpected happens. Really you can't blame him for feeling troubled at unexpectedness after the War.

.

Weaselbee and Harry didn't speak for a week and I was left with a black eye and fractured nose. Weasley grudgingly apologized and Harry

stroked my healed nose gently before accepting, silently deciding that for once, it wasn't worth it.

.

Hermione was a little more accepting, even though I still get her watchful eye on me every now and then. If it meant I could stay with Harry for

the rest of my life, I'd take the worst she could dole out. She came back during dinner and asked me about Charms. We were okay.

.

The rest of the school however, was not as okay with it. More hexes were flung at my head and this time, not all of them missed. During that

last half of the school year I practically lived in the Hospital Wing, with Harry always at my side.

* * *

Christmas morning was spent with the Weasleys, who ranged from skeptical to downright hate. Molly was doubtful of our relationship, but

polite. George threw me against a wall and threatened to curse my bollocks off after various beatings. I didn't fight back. Harry threw George

off and pushed me into the nearest bathroom, daubing the blood off my face and healing my nose for the second time. Tears streamed down

his face silently, angrily as he cleaned me up. I kissed him tenderly and carded my hands through his hair, murmuring that it was going to be

okay. The rest of our time there Harry remained as a barrier between me and any Weasley other than Ron, who ultimately joined his side. The

discord faded when Harry opened his presents, with me proudly seated on his lap, his arms around my waist. Harry kept his lips pressed to

some part of my neck or cheek almost the entire time, repeatedly whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Blushing madly, I handed Harry my

present to him, an engraved snitch. I think that was the moment when the anger truly faded.

.

Christmas afternoon was spent at the Manor, a quiet affair. Mother accepted Harry easily, hugging him carefully. Father was in Azkaban for an

unknown amount of time, a fact that we all meticulously avoided. Mother, a previously proud woman, was now hushed and shy, the War

taught her not to flaunt the things she cared about the most. Harry handed me his gift, blushing just as terribly as I was. I loved it, a thick

book on muggle history (I'd grown fond of the interesting stories Hermione talked about) and a new tie. I kissed him gently on the cheek,

knocking his glasses askew. I couldn't remember a time I'd been happier.

* * *

We were married a year later. It was simple and quiet, with only Mother and Hermione as witnesses, but it was unbelievable. With matching

soft white robes and barefoot in grass that tickled my toes, Harry and I swore our love. Immediately after the ceremony we apparated to

France and spent a month just _enjoying. _Harry's hair grew ever longer, curling over his ears, and I finally cut mine. Not too short, but just to

where it wasn't falling in my eyes all the damn time.

* * *

Now, five years later at twenty four years old, I lay beside a sleeping Harry somewhere in Britain, grateful for the imperfect perfections that led

me here. I curl further into Harry's warm body and relax against him as his arm falls around my waist. Reaching, I press gentle kisses to the

side of his neck just because I can. He sighs contentedly, peacefully. It's a strange sensation, to feel your heart almost burst in your chest. I

never thought I could love like this again. I honestly thought that that damn War had robbed what was left of me, leaving a dark shadow in its

place. Harry's embrace tightens imperceptibly around me, as if he can sense the down-spiral of my thoughts in his sleep.

.

The nightmares won't ever subside. Tonight is a good night, one where rest is plentiful for one of us and there are dreams. Other nights, this

quiet peace is gone, replaced with blood-curdling screams and endless tears. We've actually had to place a silencing charm on our flat, we're

that loud. Those nights, the awful ones, we sit in the bed clinging to each other and a cup of hot chocolate. Someone told Harry that chocolate

would help and as soon as the screams end, steaming mugs are pressed into hands. Those are the sleepless nights with tired days following,

curled together on the sofa with a thick blanket.

.

I smooth my fingertips over his chest, down the dip of his waist, across the v of his hips just to remember. I love the good nights. Something

touches the top of my head and Harry's deep rumble of pleasure sounds above me. He slides another arm under me and pulls me closer in an

embrace.

.

"Hello love."

**AN: Again, a thanks to everyone. I hope you enjoyed!**


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